THey that in course of heauenly spheares are skild, <br />To euery planet point his sundry yeare: <br />in which her circles voyage is fulfild, <br />as Mars in three score yeares doth run his spheare <br />So since the winged God his planet cleare, <br />began in me to moue, one yeare is spent: <br />the which doth longer vnto me appeare, <br />then al those fourty which my life outwent. <br />Then by that count, which louers books inuent, <br />the spheare of Cupid fourty yeares containes: <br />which I haue wasted in long languishment, <br />that seemd the longer for my greater paines. <br />But let me loues fayre Planet short her wayes <br />this yeare ensuing, or else short my dayes.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lx-2/
