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Edmund Spenser (Эдмунд Спенсер)


Whilst It Is Prime


FRESH Spring, the herald of loves mighty king,
In whose cote-armour richly are displayd
All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring,
In goodly colours gloriously arrayd--
Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd,
Yet in her winters bowre not well awake;
Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid,
Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take;
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make,
To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew;
Where every one, that misseth then her make,
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew.
   Make hast, therefore, sweet love, whilest it is prime;
   For none can call againe the passed time. 



Edmund Spenser's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 38. ARion, When Through Tempests Cruel Wracke
  2. Sonnet 48. INnocent Paper Whom Too Cruell Hand
  3. Sonnet 25. HOw Long Shall This Lyke Dying Lyfe Endure
  4. Sonnet 81. Fayre Is My Loue, When Her Fayre Golden Heares
  5. Sonnet 74. Most Happy Letters


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