Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
In this first poem of the sequence the poet addresses his poems themselves: the three quatrains speak with increasing focus of “leaves,” then “lines,” then “rhymes,” as if we are opening the page, seeing the lines, and hearing the rhymes.
The sequence begins in typical dramatic fashion, begging the...
Happy ye leaves when as those lilly hands,
which hold my life in their dead doing might
shall handle you and hold in loves soft bands,
lyke captives trembling at the victors sight.
And happy lines, on which with starry light,
those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look
and reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,
written with teares in harts close bleeding book.
And happy rymes bath'd in the sacred brooke
of Helicon whence she derived is,
when ye behold that Angels blessed looke,
my soules long lacked foode, my heavens blis.
Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone,
whom if ye please, I care for other none.
Edmund Spenser released Amoretti: Sonnet 1 on Sun Jan 01 1595.