Edmund Spenser (Эдмунд Спенсер)

Sonnet 17. THe Glorious Portraict Of That Angels Face

THe glorious portraict of that Angels face,
Made to amaze weake mens confused skil:
and this worlds worthlesse glory to embase,
what pen, what pencill can expresse her fill?
For though he colours could deuize at will,
and eke his learned hand at pleasure guide:
least trembling it his wormanship should spill,
yet many wondrous things there are beside.
The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes glide,
the charming smiles, that rob sence from the hart:
the louely pleasance and the lofty pride,
cannot expressed be by any art.
A greater craftesmans hand thereto doth neede,
that can expresse the life of things indeed. 

1. Sonnet 38. ARion, When Through Tempests Cruel Wracke
2. Sonnet 81. Fayre Is My Loue, When Her Fayre Golden Heares
3. Sonnet 25. HOw Long Shall This Lyke Dying Lyfe Endure
4. Sonnet 50. Long Languishing In Double Malady
5. Whilst It Is Prime

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