Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 17. The glorious pourtraict of that angels face

The glorious pourtraict 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 devize at will,
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide,
Least, trembling, it his workmanship 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 lovely 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.

[* Spill, spoil] 

1. Amoretti 10. Unrighteous Lord of love, what law is this
2. Amoretti 24. When I behold that beauties wonderment
3. Amoretti 61. The glorious image of the Makers beautie
4. Amoretti 75. One day I wrote her name upon the strand
5. Amoretti 67. Lyke as a huntsman, after weary chace

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