Edmund Spenser(1552–1599)

Sonnet 89 ("Lyke as the Culver on the bared bough")

Lyke as the Culver1 on the bared bough,

Sits mourning for the absence of her mate:

And in her songs sends many a wishfull vow,

For his returne that seemes to linger late,

So I alone now left disconsolate,

Mourne to my selfe the absence of my love:

And wandring here and there all desolate,

Seek with my playnts 0 to match that mournful laments, complaints

dove:

Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth hove,abide

Can comfort me, but her owne joyous sight:

Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move,

In her unspotted pleasauns2 to delight.

Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light I mis,

And dead my life that wants such lively blis.