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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.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Raging
Waking
Rage
Passion
Love
Appall
Lamenting

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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
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For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
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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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Oft stumbles at a straw.
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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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For take thy ballaunce if thou be so wise, And weigh the winds that under heaven doth blow Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow.
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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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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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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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So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.
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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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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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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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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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The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives all else is claimed by death.
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Be bold, and everywhere be bold.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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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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Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought
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Yet is there one more cursed than they all, That canker-worm, that monster, jealousie, Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall, Turning all love's delight to misery, Through fear of losing his felicity.
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