Sonnet LXXII. Oft, when my spirit doth spread her bolder wings

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

OFT, when my spirit doth spread her bolder wings,

In mind to mount up to the purest sky;

It down is weighed with thought of earthly things,

And clogged with burden of mortality;

Where, when that sovereign beauty it doth spy,

Resembling heaven’s glory in her light,

Drawn with sweet pleasure’s bait, it back doth fly,

And unto heaven forgets her former flight.

There my frail fancy, fed with full delight,

Doth bathe in bliss, and mantleth most at ease;

Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might

Her heart’s desire with most contentment please.

Heart need not wish none other happiness,

But here on earth to have such heaven’s bliss.