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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374446" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet LXXXIX</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374446" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">LYke as the Culuer on the bared bough,<br>Sits mourning for the absence of her mate;<br>and in her songs sends many a wishfull vew,<br>for his returne that seemes to linger late.<br>So I alone now left disconsolate,<br>mourne to my selfe the absence of my loue:<br>and wandring here and there all desolate,<br>seek with my playnts to match that mournful doue<br>Ne ioy of ought that vnder heauen doth houe,<br>can comfort me, but her owne ioyous sight:<br>whose sweet aspect both God and man can moue,<br>in her vnspotted pleasauns to delight.<br>Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light I mis,<br>and dead my life that wants such liuely blis.</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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