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
Spenser is working with a sonnet of Petrarch’s, Canzoniere 190, “Una candida cerva sopra l'erba,”, which was translated by Thomas Wyatt as well. Spenser’s version is rather different, because the hunt turns into a mutual desire—the hunter and the deer change in their relationship to each other. Spen...
Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace,
Seeing the game from him escapt away:
sits downe to rest him in some shady place,
with panting hounds beguiled of their pray,
So after long pursuit and vaine assay,
when I all weary had the chace forsooke,
the gentle deare returnd the selfe-same way,
thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke.
There she beholding me with mylder looke,
sought not to fly, but fearelesse still did bide:
till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke,
and with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely tyde.
Strange thing me seemed to see a beast so wyld,
so goodly wonne with her owne will beguyld.