An Hymn in Honour of Love Edmund Spenser

Love, that long since hast to thy mighty Powre
Perforce subdu'd my poor captived Heart,
And raging now therein with restless Stowre,
Dost tyrannize in every weaker Part;
Fain would I seek to ease my bitter Smart,
By any Service I might do to thee,
Or ought that else might to thee pleasing be.

And now t' assuage the Force of this new Flame,
And make thee more propitious in my Need,
I mean to sing the Praises of thy Name,
And thy victorious Conquests to areed;
By which thou madest many Hearts to bleed
Of mighty Victors, with wide Wounds embru'd,
And by thy cruel Darts to thee subdu'd.

Only I fear my Wits enfeebled late,
Thro the sharp Sorrows which thou hast me bred,
Should faint, and Words should fail me to relate
The wondrous Triumphs of thy great God-head.
But if thou wouldst vouchsafe to over-spread
Me with the Shadow of thy gentle Wing,
I should enabled be thy Acts to sing.

Come then, O come, thou mighty God of Love,
Out of thy silver Bowres and secret Bliss,
Where thou dost sit in Venus' Lap above,
Bathing thy Wings in her Ambrosial Kiss,
That sweeter far than any Nectar is;
Come softly, and my feeble Breast inspire
With gentle Fury, kindled of thy Fire.