LOe where she comes along with portly pace, <br />Lyke Phoebe from her chamber of the East, <br />Arysing forth to run her mighty race, <br />Clad all in white, that seemes a virgin best. <br />So well it her beseemes that ye would weene <br />Some angell she had beene. <br />Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre, <br />Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres a tweene, <br />Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre, <br />And being crowned with a girland greene, <br />Seeme lyke some mayden Queene, <br />Her modest eyes abashed to behold <br />So many gazers, as on her do stare, <br />Vpon the lowly ground affixed are. <br />Ne dare lift vp her countenance too bold, <br />But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, <br />So farre from being proud. <br />Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing, <br />That all the woods may answer and your eccho ring.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poem-9-2/
