My Love is like to ice, and I to fire: How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat?
EDMUND SPENSERGreatest god below the sky.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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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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Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
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Joy may you have and gentle hearts content Of your loves couplement: And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love, With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile
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The noblest mind the best contentment has.
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Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.
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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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And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
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All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid.
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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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Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought.
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For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.
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All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
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Like as the culver on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate.
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Fretting grief the enemy of life.
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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.
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For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
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Together linkt with adamantine chains.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
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Man’s wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
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No dainty flower or herbs that grows on ground, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweet, but there it might be found To bud out fair, and throw her sweet smells all around.
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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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For we by conquest, of our soveraine might,And by eternall doome of Fate’s decree,Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.
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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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But times do change and move continually.
EDMUND SPENSER