Ah! whither, Love! wilt thou now carry mee? What wontlesse fury dost thou now inspire Into my feeble breast, too full of thee? Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre,...
Love, that long since hast to thy mighty powre Perforce subdude my poor captived hart, And raging now therein with restlesse stowre*, Doest tyrannize in everie weaker part,...
Rapt with the rage of mine own ravisht thought, Through contemplation of those goodly sights And glorious images in heaven wrought, Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet delights,...
[* See the sixth canto of the third book of the Faerie Queene, especially the second and the thirty-second stanzas; which, with his Hymnes of Heavenly Love and Heavenly Beauty, are evident proofs of Spenser's attachment to the ...