Whilst It Is Prime
Edmund Spenser
Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king, In whose cote-armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring, In goodly colours gloriously arrayd— Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd, Yet in her winters bowre not well awake; Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid, Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take; Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make, To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew; Where every one, that misseth then her make, Shall be by him amearst with penance dew. Make hast, therefore, sweet love, whilest it is prime; For none can call againe the passèd time.
Next 10 Poems
- George Sterling : A Legend Of The Dove
- George Sterling : Kindred
- George Sterling : Night Sentries
- George Sterling : Omnium Exeunt In Mysterium
- George Sterling : Spring In Carmel
- George Sterling : The Ashes In The Sea
- George Sterling : The Black Vulture
- George Sterling : The Dust Dethroned
- George Sterling : The First Food
- George Sterling : The Last Days
Previous 10 Poems
- Edmund Spenser : Visions Of The Worlds Vanitie.
- Edmund Spenser : The Tamed Deer
- Edmund Spenser : The Shepheardes Calender: October
- Edmund Spenser : The Shepheardes Calender: April
- Edmund Spenser : The Faerie Queene: Book I, Canto I
- Edmund Spenser : The Faerie Queene, Book Vi, Canto X
- Edmund Spenser : The Faerie Queene, Book Iii, Canto Vi
- Edmund Spenser : The Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto Iv ( Excerpts )
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Xxxviii
- Edmund Spenser : Sonnet Xxxvii