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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
Leave
Ends
Come
Long
Love
Sad
Weary
Unto

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For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
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Laws ought to be fashioned unto the manners and conditions of the people whom they are meant to benefit, and not imposed upon them according to the simple rule of right.
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Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.
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Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.
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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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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.
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All flesh doth frailty breed!
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Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiant be, That he should be so sterne to stranger wight For seldom yet did living creature see That courtesie and manhood ever disagree.
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In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn'd himself first to subdue.
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But angels come to lead frail minds to rest in chaste desires, on heavenly beauty bound. You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within you stop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak.
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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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Oft stumbles at a straw.
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But O the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels, he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.
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Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
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My Love is like to ice, and I to fire: How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat?
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Be bold, and everywhere be bold.
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What more felicitie can fall to creature Than to enjoy delight with libertie, And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie, To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature.
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So Orpheus did for his owne bride, So I unto my selfe alone will sing, The woods shall to me answer and my Eccho ring.
Edmund Spenser