English poem
Amoure
by Stephen Hawes (1474–1523)
O swete lady! the good perfyte sterre Of my true herte, take ye now pyte; Thynke on my payne whiche am tofore you here, Wyth your swete eyes beholde you and se, How thought and wo, by great extremyte, Hath chaunged my hue into pale and wanne: It was not so whan I to love began.
More by Stephen Hawes
- Amoure
- Amoure
- Amoure
- Amoure
- Arthur
- Cap. I. Howe Graunde Amoure Walked in a Medowe, and Met Wyth Fame Envyroned with Tongues of Fyre
- Cap. II. of the Swete Reporte of Fame of the Fayre Lady la Bell Pucell in the Toure of Musycke
- Cap. IV. Howe He Was Let in by Countenaunce the Porteres, and of the Marvelous Buildyng of the Same Tower