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At last, the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre, And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy ayre.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Came
Shaking
Heaven
Mates
Hurls
Lasts
Gates
Aurora
Last
Fresh
Beams
Forth
Gloomy
Golden
Beam
Greatest
Gate
Open
Mate

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So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by example than by rule.
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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.
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The noblest mind the best contentment has
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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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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
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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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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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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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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
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In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn'd himself first to subdue.
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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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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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