Sonnet XXVIII. The laurel-leaf, which you this day do wear

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

THE LAUREL-LEAF, which you this day do wear,

Gives me great hope of your relenting mind;

For since it is the badge which I do bear,

Ye, bearing it, do seem to me inclin’d:

The power thereof, which oft in me I find,

Let it likewise your gentle breast inspire

With sweet infusion, and put you in mind

Of that proud maid, whom now those leaves attire,—

Proud Daphne, scorning Phœbus’ lovely fire,

On the Thessalian shore from him did fly:

For which the gods, in their revengeful ire,

Did her transform into a laurel-tree.

Then fly no more, fair Love, from Phœbus’ chase,

But in your breast his leaf and love embrace.