Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
Amoretti and EpithalamionSonnet LII. So oft as homeward I from her depart
Edmund Spenser (1552?1599)S
I go like one that, having lost the field,
Is prisoner led away with heavy heart,
Despoiled of warlike arms and knowen shield.
So do I now myself a prisoner yield
To sorrow and to solitary pain;
From presence of my dearest dear exiled,
Long-while alone in languor to remain.
There let no thought of joy, or pleasure vain,
Dare to approach, that may my solace breed;
But sudden dumps, and dreary sad disdain
Of all world’s gladness, more my torment feed.
So I her absence will my penance make,
That of her presence I my meed may take.