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Edmund Spenser
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Edmund Spenser
(v. 1552–1599)
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Tous les poèmes de Edmund Spenser sur Kalliope, classés par ordre alphabétique du premier vers. La liste peut servir à trouver un poème lorsque le titre est inconnu.
A
After long stormes and tempests sad assay
After so long a race as I haue run
Ah Colin, whether on the lowly plaine
Ah why hath nature to so hard a hart
Arion, when through tempests cruel wracke
As Diane hunted on a day
B
Being my selfe captyued here in care
Be nought dismayd that her vnmoued mind
C
Comming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found)
D
Darke is the day, when Phœbus face is shrowded
Dayly when I do seeke and sew for peace
Doe I not see that fayrest ymages
F
Faire proud now tell me why should faire be proud
Fayre bosome fraught with vertues richest tresure
Fayre cruell, why are ye so fierce and cruell?
Fayre eyes, the myrrour of my mazed hart
Fayre is my loue, when her fayre golden heares
Fayre ye be sure, but cruell and vnkind
Fresh spring the herald of loues mighty king
G
Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny
H
Happy ye leaues when as those lilly hands
How long shall this lyke dying lyfe endure
I
I ioy to see how in your drawen work
Innocent paper whom too cruell hand
In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth
In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace
In youth before I waxed old
Ioy of my life, full oft for louing you
I saw in secret to my Dame
Is it her nature or is it her will
L
Lackyng my loue I go from place to place
Leaue lady in your glasse of christall clene
Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre
Long languishing in double malady
Long-while I sought to what I might compare
Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace
Lyke as a ship that through the Ocean wyde
Lyke as the Culuer on the bared bough
M
Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare
Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it
More then most faire, full of the liuing fire
Most glorious Lord of lyfe that on this day
Most happy letters fram’d by skilfull trade
My loue is lyke to yse, and I to fyre
N
New yeare forth looking out of Ianus gate
O
Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay
Oft when my spirit doth spred her bolder winges
One day as I vnwarily did gaze
One day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies
One day I wrote her name vpon the strand
P
Penelope for her Vlisses sake
R
Retourne agayne my forces late dismayd
Rudely thou wrongest my deare harts desire
S
See how the stubborne damzell doth depraue
Shall I then silent be or shall I speake?
Since I did leaue the presence of my loue
Since I haue lackt the comfort of that light
So oft as homeward I from her depart
So oft as I her beauty doe behold
Sweet is the Rose, but growes vpon a brere
Sweet smile, the daughter of the Queene of loue
Sweet warriour when shall I haue peace with you?
T
Tell me when shall these wearie woes haue end
The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre loue, is vaine
The famous warriors of the anticke world
The glorious image of the makers beautie
The glorious pourtraict of that Angels face
The laurell leafe, which you this day doe weare
The loue which me so cruelly tormenteth
The merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring
The Panther knowing that his spotted hyde
The paynefull smith with force of feruent heat
The rolling wheele that runneth often round
The souerayne beauty which I doo admyre
The weary yeare his race now hauing run
The world that cannot deeme of worthy things
They that in course of heauenly spheares are skild
This holy season fit to fast and pray
Thrise happie she, that is so well assured
To all those happy blessings which ye haue
Trust not the treason of those smyling lookes
V
Venemous toung tipt with vile adders sting
Vnquiet thought, whom at the first I bred
Vnrighteous Lord of loue what law is this
Vpon a day as loue lay sweetly slumbring
W
Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne
Was it the worke of nature or of Art
Weake is th’assurance that weake flesh reposeth
What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses
When I behold that beauties wonderment
When my abodes prefixed time is spent
When those renoumed noble Peres of Greece
Y
Ye learned sisters which haue oftentimes
Ye tradefull Merchants that with weary toyle
