Edmund Spenser

(1552 - 13 January 1599 / London / England)

Edmund Spenser Poems

41. Poem 23 12/31/2002
42. Poem 24 12/31/2002
43. Poem 3 12/31/2002
44. Poem 4 12/31/2002
45. Poem 5 12/31/2002
46. Poem 6 12/31/2002
47. Poem 7 12/31/2002
48. Poem 8 12/31/2002
49. Poem 9 12/31/2002
50. Poem 90 12/31/2002
51. Poem 91 12/31/2002
52. Poem 92 12/31/2002
53. Poem 93 12/31/2002
54. Poem 94 12/31/2002
55. Poem 95 12/31/2002
56. Poem 96 12/31/2002
57. Poem 97 12/31/2002
58. Prosopopoia: Or Mother Hubbard's Tale 1/1/2004
59. Prothalamion 1/3/2003
60. Ruins Of Rome, By Bellay 1/3/2003
61. So Let Us Love 1/3/2003
62. Sonnet 54 1/13/2003
63. Sonnet 75 1/13/2003
64. Sonnet I 12/31/2002
65. Sonnet Ii 12/31/2002
66. Sonnet Iii 12/31/2002
67. Sonnet Iiii 12/31/2002
68. Sonnet Ix 12/31/2002
69. Sonnet L 12/31/2002
70. Sonnet Li 12/31/2002
71. Sonnet Lii 12/31/2002
72. Sonnet Liii 12/31/2002
73. Sonnet Liiii 12/31/2002
74. Sonnet Lix 12/31/2002
75. Sonnet Lv 12/31/2002
76. Sonnet Lvi 12/31/2002
77. Sonnet Lvii 12/31/2002
78. Sonnet Lviii By Her That Is Most Assured To Her Selfe 12/31/2002
79. Sonnet Lx 12/31/2002
80. Sonnet Lxi 12/31/2002
Best Poem of Edmund Spenser

My Love Is Like To Ice

My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How comes it then that this her cold so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice,
And ice, which is congeal's with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle ...

Read the full of My Love Is Like To Ice

Poem 20

BVt let stil Silence trew night watches keepe,
That sacred peace may in assurance rayne,
And tymely sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe,
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne,
The whiles an hundred little winged loues,
Like diuers fethered doues,
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,
And in the secret darke, that none reproues,
Their prety stealthes shal worke, & snares shal spread

[Hata Bildir]