SO oft as homeward I from her depart,
I goe lyke one that hauing lost the field:
is prisoner led away with heauy hart,
despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield.
So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yeeld,
to sorrow and to solitary paine:
from presence of my dearest deare exylde,
longwhile alone in languor to remaine.
There let no thought of ioy or pleasure vaine,
dare to approch, that may my solace breed:
but sudden dumps and drery sad disdayne,
of all worlds gladnesse more my torment feed.
So I her absens will my penaunce make,
that of her presens I my meed may take.
(Edmund Spenser)
More Poetry from Edmund Spenser:
- The Shepheardes Calender: Februarie (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- The Shepheardes Calender: September (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- An Hymne In Honour Of Beautie (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- An Hymne of Heavenly Love (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- An Hymne Of Heavenly Beautie (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- An Hymne In Honour Of Love (Edmund Spenser Poems)