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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.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Light
Reflection
Thought
Thou
Take
Blow
Mind
East
Weigh
Men
Flow
Doth
Wind
Winds
Wise
Folly
Heaven
Rise

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For of the soule the bodie forme doth take For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
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Oft stumbles at a straw.
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What though the sea with waves continuall Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought : For whatsoever from one place doth fall Is with the tyde unto another brought : For there is nothing lost, that may be found if sought.
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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.
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Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought
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Bright as does the morning star appear, Out of the east with flaming locks bedight, To tell the dawning day is drawing near.
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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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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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Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.
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The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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O sacred hunger of ambitious minds.
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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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She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.
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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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Fly from wrath sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
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All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
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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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I learned have, not to despise,What ever thing seemes small in common eyes.
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Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
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