Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
Amoretti and EpithalamionSonnet LXXIII. Being myself captivéd here in care
Edmund Spenser (1552?1599)B
My heart, whom none with servile bands can tie,
But the fair tresses of your golden hair,
Breaking his prison, forth to you doth fly.
Like as a bird, that in one’s hand doth spy
Desired food, to it doth make his flight:
Even so my heart, that wont on your fair eye
To feed his fill, flies back unto your sight.
Do you him take, and in your bosom bright
Gently encage, that he may be your thrall:
Perhaps he there may learn, with rare delight,
To sing your name and praises over all:
That it hereafter may you not repent,
Him lodging in your bosom to have lent.