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Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Sad
Weary
Unto
Leave
Ends
Come
Long
Love

More quotes by Edmund Spenser

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Full many mischiefs follow cruel wrath Abhorred bloodshed and tumultuous strife Unmanly murder and unthrifty scath, Bitter despite, with rancor's rusty knife And fretting grief the enemy of life All these and many evils more, haunt ire.
Edmund Spenser
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Greatest god below the sky.
Edmund Spenser
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Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.
Edmund Spenser
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Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought
Edmund Spenser
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For if good were not praised more than ill, None would chuse goodness of his own free will.
Edmund Spenser
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Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
Edmund Spenser
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Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair
Edmund Spenser
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
Edmund Spenser
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Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
Edmund Spenser
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How many great ones may remember'd be, Which in their days most famously did flourish, Of whom no word we hear, nor sign now see, But as things wip'd out with a sponge do perish, Because the living cared not to cherish No gentle wits, through pride or covetize, Which might their names forever memorize!
Edmund Spenser
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
Edmund Spenser
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And thus of all my harvest-hope I have Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
Edmund Spenser
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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
Edmund Spenser
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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
Edmund Spenser
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A circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can the whole world, if it were to be compassed, the heart of man a man may as easily fill a chest with grace as the heart with gold. The air fills not the body, neither doth money the covetous mind of man.
Edmund Spenser
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The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
Edmund Spenser
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Waking love suffereth no sleepe: Say, that raging love dothe appall the weake stomacke: Say, that lamenting love marreth the musicall.
Edmund Spenser
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She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.
Edmund Spenser
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For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
Edmund Spenser
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At last, the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre, And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy ayre.
Edmund Spenser