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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374391" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poem 7</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374391" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">NOw is my loue all ready forth to come,<br>Let all the virgins therefore well awayt,<br>And ye fresh boyes that tend vpon her groome<br>Prepare your selues; for he is comming strayt.<br>Set all your things in seemely good aray<br>Fit for so ioyfull day,<br>The ioyfullst day that euer sunne did see<br>Faire Sun, shew forth thy fauourable ray,<br>And let thy lifull heat not feruent be<br>For feare of burning her sunshyny face,<br>Her beauty to disgrace.<br>O fayrest Phoebus, father of the Muse,<br>If euer I did honour thee aright,<br>Or sing the thing, that mote thy mind delight,<br>Doe not thy seruants simple boone refuse,<br>But let this day let this one day be myne,<br>Let all the rest be thine.<br>Then I thy souerayne prayses loud wil sing,<br>That all the woods shal answer and theyr eccho ring.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edmund+Spenser">Edmund Spenser</a></strong></div>

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