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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Happiness
Delightful
Happy
Cheer
Bliss
Immortal
Appreciation
Gratitude
Joyfulness
Garden
Thankfulness
Grows
Cheerfulness

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Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!
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Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,And layes the soul to sleepe in quiet grave?Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.
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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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Yet is there one more cursed than they all, That canker-worm, that monster, jealousie, Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall, Turning all love's delight to misery, Through fear of losing his felicity.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives all else is claimed by death.
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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.
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All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
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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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For if good were not praised more than ill, None would chuse goodness of his own free will.
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And thus of all my harvest-hope I have Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
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Those that were up themselves, kept others low Those that were low themselves, held others hard He suffered them to ryse or greater grow But every one did strive his fellow down to throw.
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The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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For take thy ballaunce if thou be so wise, And weigh the winds that under heaven doth blow Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow.
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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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Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair
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Fly from wrath sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
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Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.
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Greatest god below the sky.
Edmund Spenser