Sonnet XVII
Edmund Spenser 1552 (London) – 1599 (London)
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.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 31 sec read
- 52 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABABBCBCCDCDCE |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic hexameter |
Characters | 613 |
Words | 105 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 14 |
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"Sonnet XVII" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 4 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/9266/sonnet-xvii>.
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