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For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Eyes
Separation
Eye
Miss
Night
Turned
Mines
Mine
Sight
Cheerless
Missing
Joyous
Since
Cheerful

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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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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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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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Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!
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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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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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Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
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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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Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair
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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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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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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
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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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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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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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O sacred hunger of ambitious minds.
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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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Greatest god below the sky.
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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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