Poem 17

Edmund Spenser

Now ceasse ye damsels your delights forepast,
Enough is it, that all the day was youres:
Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast:
Now bring the Bryde into the brydall boures.
Now night is come, now soone her disaray,
And in her bed her lay;
Lay her in lillies and in violets,
And silken courteins ouer her display,
And odourd sheetes, and Arras couerlets,
Behold how goodly my faire loue does ly
In proud humility;
Like vnto Maia, when as Ioue her tooke,
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras,
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was,
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon,
And leaue my loue alone,
And leaue likewise your former lay to sing:
The woods no more shal answere, nor your echo ring

Next 10 Poems

• Edmund Spenser : Poem 18
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 19
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 2
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 20
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 21
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 22
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 23
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 24
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 3
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 4

Previous 10 Poems

• Edmund Spenser : Poem 16
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 15
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 14
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 13
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 12
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 11
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 10
• Edmund Spenser : Poem 1
• Edmund Spenser : My Love Is Like To Ice
• Edmund Spenser : Mutability