Poems by Edmund Spenser

All Poems Original Poems Translations

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Poem 15

RIng ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,

And leaue your wonted labors for this day:

This day is holy; doe ye write it dovvne,

that ye for euer it remember may.

This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight,

With Barnaby the bright,

>From whence declining daily by degrees,

He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,

by Edmund Spenser

Sonnet LXXVII

Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne,

a goodly table of pure yvory:

all spred with iuncats, fit to entertayne,

the greatest Prince with pompous roialty.

Mongst which there in a siluer dish did ly,

twoo golden apples of vnualewd price:

far passing those which Hercules came by,

or those which Atalanta did entice.

by Edmund Spenser

Astrophel

A Pastorall Elegie vpon the death of the most Noble and valorous Knight, Sir Philip Sidney. Dedicated To the most beautifull and vertuous Ladie, the Countesse of Essex.

Shepheards, that wont, on pipes of oaten reed,

Oft times to plaint your loues concealed smart:

And with your piteous layes haue learnd to breed

Compassion in a countrey lasses hart.

Hearken ye gentle shepheards to my song,

And place my dolefull plaint your plaints emong.

To you alone I sing this mournfull verse,

by Edmund Spenser

Iambicum Trimetrum

Unhappy verse, the witness of my unhappy state,

Make thy self flutt'ring wings of thy fast flying

Thought, and fly forth unto my love, wheresoever she be:

Whether lying restless in heavy bed, or else

Sitting so cheerless at the cheerful board, or else

Playing alone careless on her heavenly virginals.

If in bed, tell her, that my eyes can take no rest:

If at board, tell her, that my mouth can eat no meat:

by Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Qveene

Me thought I saw the grave where she lay

Within that Temple, where the vestal flame

Was won't to burne, and passing by that way.

To see that buried dust of living fame,

Whose tomb faire love, and fairer vertue kept,

All suddenly I saw the Faerie Qveene:

At whose approach the soul of Petrarke wept,

And from thenceforth those graces were not seen.

by Edmund Spenser

Poem 10

TEll me ye merchants daughters did ye see

So fayre a creature in your towne before,

So sweet, so louely, and so mild as she,

Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store,

Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright,

Her forehead yuory white,

Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded,

Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to byte,

by Edmund Spenser

From 'Daphnaida'

SHE fell away in her first ages spring,

Whil'st yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde,

And whil'st her braunch faire blossomes foorth did bring,

She fell away against all course of kinde.

For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong;

She fel away like fruit blowne downe with winde.

Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.

Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye,

by Edmund Spenser

Poem 14

NOw al is done; bring home the bride againe,

bring home the triumph of our victory,

Bring home with you the glory of her gaine,

With ioyance bring her and with iollity.

Neuer had man more ioyfull day then this,

Whom heauen would heape with blis.

Make feast therefore now all this liue long day,

This day for euer to me holy is,

by Edmund Spenser

An Hymne In Honour Of Beautie

Ah! whither, Love! wilt thou now carry mee?

What wontlesse fury dost thou now inspire

Into my feeble breast, too full of thee?

Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre,

Thou in me kindlest much more great desyre,

And up aloft above my strength doth rayse

The wondrous matter of my fire to praise.

That as I earst in praise of thine owne name,

by Edmund Spenser

Poem 12

OPen the temple gates vnto my loue,

Open them wide that she may enter in,

And all the postes adorne as doth behoue,

And all the pillours deck with girlands trim,

For to recyue this Saynt with honour dew,

That commeth in to you,

With trembling steps and humble reuerence,

She commeth in, before th'almighties vew,

by Edmund Spenser

An Hymne Of Heavenly Beautie

Rapt with the rage of mine own ravish'd thought,

Through contemplation of those goodly sights,

And glorious images in heaven wrought,

Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet delights

Do kindle love in high-conceited sprights;

I fain to tell the things that I behold,

But feel my wits to fail, and tongue to fold.

Vouchsafe then, O thou most Almighty Spright,

by Edmund Spenser

Sonnet LXXVI

FAyre bosome fraught with vertues richest tresure,

The neast of loue, the lodging of delight:

the bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure,

the sacred harbour of that heuenly spright.

How was I rauisht with your louely sight,

and my frayle thoughts too rashly led astray?

whiles diuing deepe through amorous insight,

on the sweet spoyle of beautie they did pray.

by Edmund Spenser