Sonnet Lxvi
Edmund Spenser
TO all those happy blessings which ye haue, with plenteous hand by heauen vpon you thrown: this one disparagement they to you gaue, that ye your loue lent to so meane a one. Yee whose high worths surpassing paragon, could not on earth haue found one fit for mate, ne but in heauen matchable to none, why did ye stoup vnto so lowly state. But ye thereby much greater glory gate, then had ye sorted with a princes pere: for now your light doth more it selfe dilate, and in my darknesse greater doth appeare. Yet since your light hath once enlumind me, with my reflex yours shall encreased be.
Next 10 Poems
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxvii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxviii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxx
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxxi
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxxii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxxiii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxxiiii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxxix
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxxvi
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxxvii
Previous 10 Poems
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxv
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxix
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxiiii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxiii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lxi
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lx
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lviii By Her That Is Most Assured To Her Selfe
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lvii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Lvi