Edmund Spenser Quotes

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.

Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.

She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.

Thankfulness is the tune of angels.

All for love, and nothing for reward.

Be bold, and everywhere be bold.

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Men, when their actions succeed not as they would, are always ready to impute the blame thereof to heaven, so as to excuse their own follies.

For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto an other brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.

I hate the day, because it lendeth light To see all things, but not my love to see.

Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.

And he that strives to touch the stars Oft stumbles at a straw.

Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but stiketh nere; Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough; Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.

Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.

The noblest mind the best contentment has

For deeds to die, however nobly done, And thoughts of men to as themselves decay, But wise words taught in numbers for to run, Recorded by the Muses, live for ay.

But times do change and move continually.

And thus of all my harvest-hope I have Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.

All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.

Together linkt with adamantine chains.

So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by example than by rule.

All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.

Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.

Laws ought to be fashioned unto the manners and conditions of the people whom they are meant to benefit, and not imposed upon them according to the simple rule of right.

I trow that countenance cannot lie,Whose thoughts are legible in the eie.

Vain-glorious man, when fluttering wind does blow In his light wing's, is lifted up to sky; The scorn of-knighthood and true chivalry. To think, without desert of gentle deed And noble worth, to be advanced high, Such praise is shame, but honour, virtue's meed, Doth bear the fairest flower in honourable seed.

One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide and made my pains his prey. Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay A mortal thing so to immortalise; For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wipèd out likewise. Not so (quod I); let baser things devise To die in dust, but you shall live by fame; My verse your virtues rare shall eternise, And in the heavens write your glorious name: Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew.

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.

Gather therefore the Rose, whilst yet is prime, For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower: Gather the Rose of love, whilst yet is time.

No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.

Through knowledge we behold the world's creation, How in his cradle first he fostered was; And judge of Nature's cunning operation, How things she formed of a formless mass.

Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.

Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, The sailing pine,the cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry, The builder oak, sole king of forests all, The aspin good for staves, the cypress funeral, The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, the fir that weepest still, The yew obedient to the bender's will, The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill, The myrrh sweet-bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill, The fruitful olive, and the platane round, The carver holm, the maple seldom inward sound.

A sweet attractive kind of grace, A full assurance given by looks, Continual comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospel books-- I trow that countenance cannot lye Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.

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.

Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.

Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion

Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, that more to mighty hands, then rightfull cause doth trust.

Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.

For if good were not praised more than ill, None would chuse goodness of his own free will.

All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.

The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, For a man by nothing is so well betrayed As by his manners.

Fresh spring the herald of love's mighty king.

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.

What more felicitie can fall to creature Than to enjoy delight with libertie, And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie, To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature.

Lastly came Winter cloathed all in frize, Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill; Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freese, And the dull drops, that from his purpled bill As from a limebeck did adown distill: In his right hand a tipped staffe he held, With which his feeble steps he stayed still; For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld; That scarce his loosed limbes he hable was to weld.

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.