EDMUND SPENSER
Ne sleepe (the harbenger of wcarie 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 With Philumene, my fortune to deplore; With Philumcne, the partner of my plight.
And ever as I sec the starrcs to fall,
And under ground to goe to give them light
Which dwell in darknes, I to minde will call
How my fair Starrc (that shinde on me so bright)
Fell sodainly and faded under ground,
Since whose departure, day is turned to night,
And night without a Venus starre is found.
And she, my love that was, my Saint that is, When she beholds from her cclestiall thione (In which she joyeth in etcrnall bhs) My bitter penance, will my case bemone, And pitie me that living thus doo die, For heavenly spirits have compassion On mortall men, and rue their miserie.
So when I have with sorowe satisfidc TV importune fates, which vengeance on me seekc, And th' heavens with long languor pacifide, She, for pure pitie of my sufferance mecke, Will send for me, for which I daylie long. And will till then my painful penance eeke. Weep, Shepheard' weep, to make my undersong!
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