Edmund Spenser

Amoretti

LX
They that in course of heavenly spheres are skilled,
To every planet point his sundry year:
In which her circle's voyage is fulfilled,
As Mars in three-score years doth run his sphere.
So since the winged God his planet clear,
Began in me to move, one year is spent:
The which doth longer unto me appear,
Than all those forty which my life outwent.
Then by that count, which lovers' books invent,
The sphere of Cupid forty years contains:
Which I have wasted in long languishment,
That seemed the longer for my greater pains.
But let my love's fair planet short her ways
This year ensuing, or else short my days.

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