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I learned have, not to despise,What ever thing seemes small in common eyes.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Thing
Despise
Learned
Small
Eyes
Common
Eye
Ever

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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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Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.
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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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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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Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
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O sacred hunger of ambitious minds.
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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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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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There learned arts do flourish in great honour And poets's wits are had in peerless price Religion hath lay power, to rest upon her, Advancing virtue, and suppressing vice. For end all good, all grace there freely grows, Had people grace it gratefully to use: For God His gifts there plenteously bestows, But graceless men them greatly do abuse.
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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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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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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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So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.
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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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Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.
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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 easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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For all that faire is, is by nature goodThat is a signe to know the gentle blood.
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Then came October, full of merry glee.
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