THE FAERIE QUEENE by Edmund Spenser TO The ... - Planet.ee

www.TaleBooks.comFor both the boughes doe laughing blossoms beare,And with fresh colours decke the wanton Pryme,And eke attonce the heavy trees they clyme,Which seeme to labour under their fruites lode:The whiles the joyous birdes make their pastymeEmongst the shady leaves, their sweet abode,And their trew loves without suspition tell abrode.XLIII. Right in the middest of that ParadiseThere stood a stately Mount, on whose round topA gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise,Whose shady boughes sharp steele did never lop,Nor wicked beastes their tender buds did crop,But like a girlond compassed the hight;And from their fruitfull sydes sweet gum did drop,That all the ground, with pretious deaw bedight,Threw forth most dainty odours and most sweet delight.XLIV. And in the thickest covert of that shadeThere was a pleasaunt Arber, not by artBut of the trees owne inclination made,Which knitting their rancke braunches, part to part,With wanton yvie twine entrayld athwart,And Eglantine and Caprifole emong,Fashiond above within their inmost part,That nether Phoebus beams could through them throng,Nor Aeolus sharp blast could worke them any wrong.XLV. And all about grew every sort of flowre,To which sad lovers were transformde of yore;Fresh Hyacinthus, Phoebus paramoureAnd dearest love;Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watry shore;Sad Amaranthus, made a flowre but late,Sad Amaranthus, in whose purple goreMe seemes I see Amintas wretched fate,To whom sweete Poets verse hath given endlesse date.XLVI. There wont fayre Venus often to enjoyHer deare Adonis joyous company,And reape sweet pleasure of the wanton boy:There yet, some say, in secret he does ly,Lapped in flowres and pretious spycery,By her hid from the world, and from the skillOf Stygian Gods, which doe her love envy;But she her selfe, when ever that she will,Possesseth him, and of his sweetnesse takes her fill.XLVII. And sooth, it seemes, they say; for he may notFor ever dye, and ever buried beeIn balefull night, where all thinges are forgot:All be he subject to mortalitie,Yet is eterne in mutabilitie,And by succession made perpetuall,Page 323 , Faerie Queene, The - Edmund Spenser