Friday, November 12, 2010

Friday Poem: Sonnet LXXIX by Edmund Spenser

Since I have been gushing a bit about Edmund Spenser today, let's have one of his sonnets. I've left it in the original spelling, so it might help if you read it out loud. Watch out for the 'U' used as a 'V' and uice uersa!

Sonnet LXXIX
by Edmund Spenser

Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it,
For that your selfe ye dayly such doe see:
but the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit,
and vertuous mind is much more praysd of me.
For all the rest, how euer fayre it be,
shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew:
but onely that is permanent and free
from frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew.
That is true beautie: that doth argue you
to be diuine and borne of heauenly seed:
deriu'd from that fayre Spirit, from whom all true
and perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fayre, and what he fayre hath made,
all other fayre lyke flowres vntymely fade.

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