Edmund Spenser

Amoretti

XXXIX
Sweet smile, the daughter of the queen of love,
Expressing all thy mother's powerful art:
With which she wonts to temper angry Jove,
When all the gods he threats with thund'ring dart.
Sweet is thy virtue as thy self sweet art,
For when on me thou shinedst late in sadness,
A melting pleasance ran through every part,
And me revived with heart robbing gladness.
Whylest rapt with joy resembling heavenly madness,
My soul was ravished quite as in a trance:
And feeling thence no more her sorrow's sadness,
Fed on the fullness of that cheerful glance,
More sweet than nectar or ambrosial meat,
Seemed every bit, which thenceforth I did eat.

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