Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Edmund Spenser. 1552159983. From ‘Daphnaïda’ An Elegy
SHE fell away in her first ages spring, | |
Whil’st yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde, | |
And whil’st her braunch faire blossomes foorth did bring, | |
She fell away against all course of kinde. | |
For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong; | 5 |
She fel away like fruit blowne downe with winde. | |
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong. | |
Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye, | |
Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent, | |
But as one toyld with travaile downe doth lye, | 10 |
So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went, | |
And closde her eyes with carelesse quietnesse; | |
The whiles soft death away her spirit hent, | |
And soule assoyld from sinfull fleshlinesse. | |
How happie was I when I saw her leade | 15 |
The Shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd! | |
How trimly would she trace and softly tread | |
The tender grasse, with rosie garland crownd! | |
And when she list advance her heavenly voyce, | |
Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made astownd, | 20 |
And flocks and shepheards causèd to rejoyce. | |
But now, ye Shepheard lasses! who shall lead | |
Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes? | |
Or who shall dight your bowres, sith she is dead | |
That was the Lady of your holy-dayes? | 25 |
Let now your blisse be turnèd into bale, | |
And into plaints convert your joyous playes, | |
And with the same fill every hill and dale. | |
For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage, | |
Throughout the world from one to other end, | 30 |
And in affliction wast my better age: | |
My bread shall be the anguish of my mind, | |
My drink the teares which fro mine eyed do raine, | |
My bed the ground that hardest I may finde; | |
So will I wilfully increase my paine. | 35 |
Ne sleepe (the harbenger of wearie wights) | |
Shall ever lodge upon mine ey-lids more; | |
Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting sprights, | |
Nor failing force to former strength restore: | |
But I will wake and sorrow all the night | 40 |
With Philumene, my fortune to deplore; | |
With Philumene, the partner of my plight. | |
And ever as I see the starres to fall, | |
And under ground to goe to give them light | |
Which dwell in darknes, I to minde will call | 45 |
How my fair Starre (that shinde on me so bright) | |
Fell sodainly and faded under ground; | |
Since whose departure, day is turnd to night, | |
And night without a Venus starre is found. | |
And she, my love that was, my Saint that is, | 50 |
When she beholds from her celestiall throne | |
(In which shee joyeth in eternall blis) | |
My bitter penance, will my case bemone, | |
And pitie me that living thus doo die; | |
For heavenly spirits have compassion | 55 |
On mortall men, and rue their miserie. | |
So when I have with sorowe satisfide | |
Th’ importune fates, which vengeance on me seeke, | |
And th’ heavens with long languor pacifide, | |
She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke, | 60 |
Will send for me; for which I daylie long: | |
And will till then my painful penance eeke. | |
Weep, Shepheard! weep, to make my undersong! |