OF this worlds Theatre in which we stay,
My loue lyke the Spectator ydly sits
beholding me that all the pageants play,
disguysing diuersly my troubled wits.
Sometimes I ioy when glad occasion sits,
and mask in myrth lyke to a Comedy:
soone after when my ioy to sorrow flits,
I waile and make my woes a Tragedy.
Yet she beholding me with constant eye,
delights not in my merth nor rues my smart:
but when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry
she laughes, and hardens euermore her hart.
What then can moue her? if nor merth nor mone,
she is no woman, but a sencelesse stone.
Edmund Spenser's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Sonnet LIIII by Edmund Spenser )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- teaching my baby girls, Jason Callender
- The Absorption(মগ্নতা), Bhaskar Rabha
- To My Daughters, Jason Callender
- Summer's Flowers, Joseph Narusiewicz
- All Those Ancient Trees Sorrounded Home, Albert Martin
- Rebel with a Cause, Deborah Dalton
- Shroud Of Smile, Rex mayor Ubini
- You, Jacob macharia
- नायहरदोँ आं गसंनानै, Ronjoy Brahma
- Until I See You Again, Lilly Emery