Sonnet LII. So oft as homeward I from her depart

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

SO oft as homeward I from her depart,

I go like one that, having lost the field,

Is prisoner led away with heavy heart,

Despoiled of warlike arms and knowen shield.

So do I now myself a prisoner yield

To sorrow and to solitary pain;

From presence of my dearest dear exiled,

Long-while alone in languor to remain.

There let no thought of joy, or pleasure vain,

Dare to approach, that may my solace breed;

But sudden dumps, and dreary sad disdain

Of all world’s gladness, more my torment feed.

So I her absence will my penance make,

That of her presence I my meed may take.