Edmund Spenser Poems
|161.||The Tamed Deer||1/3/2003|
|162.||A Hymn In Honour Of Beauty||1/3/2003|
|163.||So Let Us Love||1/3/2003|
|165.||Amoretti Iii: The Sovereign Beauty||1/3/2003|
|167.||Amoretti Lxxix: Men Call You Fair||1/1/2004|
|169.||Amoretti Lxvii: Like As A Huntsman||1/3/2003|
|173.||Amoretti Lxxv: One Day I Wrote Her Name||1/3/2003|
|176.||Ice And Fire||1/3/2003|
|177.||My Love Is Like To Ice||1/3/2003|
Comments about 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 ...
THe world that cannot deeme of worthy things,
when I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter:
so does the Cuckow, when the Mauis sings,
begin his witlesse note apace to clatter.
But they that skill not of so heauenly matter,
all that they know not, enuy or admyre,
rather then enuy let them wonder at her,
but not to deeme of her desert aspyre.
Deepe in the closet of my parts entyre,