I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.
EDMUND SPENSERFor 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.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
-
-
Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
EDMUND SPENSER -
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.
EDMUND SPENSER -
In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn’d himself first to subdue.
EDMUND SPENSER -
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
EDMUND SPENSER -
Who would ever care to do brave deed, Or strive in virtue others to excel, If none should yield him his deserved meed Due praise, that is the spur of doing well? For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.
EDMUND SPENSER -
In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Her angel’s face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
EDMUND SPENSER -
All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
EDMUND SPENSER -
And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? – Epithalamion
EDMUND SPENSER