Sonnet LXXVI. Fair bosom! fraught with virtue’s richest treasure

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

FAIR bosom! fraught with virtue’s richest treasure

The nest of love, the lodging of delight,

The bower of bliss, the paradise of pleasure,

The sacred harbour of that heavenly spright;

How was I ravish’d with your lovely sight,

And my frail thoughts too rashly led astray!

Whiles diving deep through amorous insight,

On the sweet spoil of beauty they did prey;

And twixt her paps (like early fruit in May,

Whose harvest seemed to hasten now apace),

They loosely did their wanton wings display,

And there to rest themselves did boldly place.

Sweet thoughts! I envy your so happy rest,

Which oft I wish’d, yet never was so blest.