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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.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Heart
Pine
Love
Hateful
Foul
Jealousy
Dread
Loving
Thoughts
Joyless
Divine
Languish

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Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.
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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.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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I learned have, not to despise,What ever thing seemes small in common eyes.
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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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How many great ones may remember'd be, Which in their days most famously did flourish, Of whom no word we hear, nor sign now see, But as things wip'd out with a sponge do perish, Because the living cared not to cherish No gentle wits, through pride or covetize, Which might their names forever memorize!
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Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
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But O the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels, he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.
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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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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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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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Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.
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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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All flesh doth frailty breed!
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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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My Love is like to ice, and I to fire: How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat?
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The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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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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Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
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