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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Men
Wretched
Fades
Fresh
Evening
Late
State
States

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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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Oft stumbles at a straw.
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Be bold, and everywhere be bold.
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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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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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Men, when their actions succeed not as they would, are always ready to impute the blame thereof to heaven, so as to excuse their own follies.
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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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All flesh doth frailty breed!
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Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiant be, That he should be so sterne to stranger wight For seldom yet did living creature see That courtesie and manhood ever disagree.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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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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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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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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For if good were not praised more than ill, None would chuse goodness of his own free will.
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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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This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state for misery doth bravest minds abate.
Edmund Spenser
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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