Edmund Spenser

(1552 - 13 January 1599 / London / England)

Edmund Spenser Poems

121. Sonnet Xl 12/31/2002
122. Sonnet Xlii 12/31/2002
123. Sonnet Xliii 12/31/2002
124. Sonnet Xliiii 12/31/2002
125. Sonnet Xlv 12/31/2002
126. Sonnet Xlvi 12/31/2002
127. Sonnet Xlvii 12/31/2002
128. Sonnet Xlviii 12/31/2002
129. Sonnet Xv 12/31/2002
130. Sonnet Xvi 12/31/2002
131. Sonnet Xvii 12/31/2002
132. Sonnet Xviii 12/31/2002
133. Sonnet Xx 12/31/2002
134. Sonnet Xxi 12/31/2002
135. Sonnet Xxii 12/31/2002
136. Sonnet Xxiii 12/31/2002
137. Sonnet Xxiiii 12/31/2002
138. Sonnet Xxix 12/31/2002
139. Sonnet Xxv 12/31/2002
140. Sonnet Xxvi 12/31/2002
141. Sonnet Xxvii 12/31/2002
142. Sonnet Xxviii 12/31/2002
143. Sonnet Xxx 12/31/2002
144. Sonnet Xxxi 12/31/2002
145. Sonnet Xxxii 12/31/2002
146. Sonnet Xxxiii 12/31/2002
147. Sonnet Xxxiiii 12/31/2002
148. Sonnet Xxxix 12/31/2002
149. Sonnet Xxxv 12/31/2002
150. Sonnet Xxxvi 12/31/2002
151. Sonnet Xxxvii 12/31/2002
152. Sonnet Xxxviii 12/31/2002
153. The Faerie Queene (Dedicatory Sonnets) 4/16/2015
154. The Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto Iv (Excerpts) 1/1/2004
155. The Faerie Queene, Book Iii, Canto Vi 1/1/2004
156. The Faerie Queene, Book Vi, Canto X 1/1/2004
157. The Faerie Queene: Book I, Canto I 1/1/2004
158. The Faerie Qveene 4/7/2010
159. The Ruines Of Time 4/7/2010
160. The Shepheardes Calender: April 1/1/2004
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

Sonnet Xlv

LEaue lady, in your glasse of christall clene,
Your goodly selfe for euermore to vew:
and in my selfe, my inward selfe I meane,
most liuely lyke behold your semblant trew.
Within my hart, though hardly it can shew,
thing so diuine to vew of earthly eye:
the fayre Idea of your celestiall hew,
and euery part remaines immortally:
And were it not that through your cruelty,

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