Edmund Spenser

(1552 - 13 January 1599 / London / England)

Edmund Spenser Poems

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

TO all those happy blessings which ye haue,
with plenteous hand by heauen vpon you thrown:
this one disparagement they to you gaue,
that ye your loue lent to so meane a one.
Yee whose high worths surpassing paragon,
could not on earth haue found one fit for mate,
ne but in heauen matchable to none,
why did ye stoup vnto so lowly state.
But ye thereby much greater glory gate,

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