Quote

Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Beam
Fair
Lightly
Sweet
Softly
Spirit
Delay
Play
Hot
Titan
Gentle
Titans
Breathing
Beams
Fairs

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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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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.
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All flesh doth frailty breed!
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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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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A circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can the whole world, if it were to be compassed, the heart of man a man may as easily fill a chest with grace as the heart with gold. The air fills not the body, neither doth money the covetous mind of man.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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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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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
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So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by example than by rule.
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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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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
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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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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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Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion
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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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