Edmund Spenser

New yeare forth looking out of Janus gate, Doth seeme to promise hope of new delight: And bidding th’old Adieu, his pass

The sovereign beauty which I do admire, Witness the world how worthy to be praised: The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire In my frail spirit, by her from baseness raised; That being now with her huge brightness dazed, Base thing I can no more endure to view; But looking still on her, I stand amazed At wondrous sight of so celestial hue. So when my tongue would speak her praises due, It stopped is with thought's astonishment: And when my pen would write her titles true, It ravish'd is with fancy's wonderment: Yet in my heart I then both speak and write The wonder that my wit cannot endite.

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.