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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!

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Way
Steel
Make
Flesh
Men
Teach
Living
War
Cursed
Spirit
Woe
Firsts
Bite
First
Bites

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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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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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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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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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Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion
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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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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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Then came October, full of merry glee.
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Those that were up themselves, kept others low Those that were low themselves, held others hard He suffered them to ryse or greater grow But every one did strive his fellow down to throw.
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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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Oft stumbles at a straw.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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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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This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state for misery doth bravest minds abate.
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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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