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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374479" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XXV</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374479" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">HOw long shall this lyke dying lyfe endure,<br>And know no end of her owne mysery:<br>but wast and weare away in termes vnsure,<br>twixt feare and hope depending doubtfully.<br>Yet better were attonce to let me die,<br>and shew the last ensample of your pride:<br>then to torment me thus with cruelty,<br>to proue your powre, which I too wel haue tride.<br>But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide,<br>a close intent at last to shew me grace:<br>then all the woes and wrecks which I abide,<br>as meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace.<br>And wish that more and greater they might be,<br>that greater meede at last may turne to mee.</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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