Quote

She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Rose
Forrest
Flower
Violets
Grew
Bathed
Blew
Violet
Roses
Sweetest
Red

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I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
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This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state for misery doth bravest minds abate.
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For next to Death is Sleepe to be compared Therefore his house is unto his annext: Here Sleepe, ther Richesse, and hel-gate them both betwext.
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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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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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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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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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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.
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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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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.
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