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Man’s wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.

Edmund Spenser

Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.
EDMUND SPENSER

Day Fear Feed Goodness Hell Hope Night Sorrow Speed Unknown Wasted
The man whom nature’s self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
EDMUND SPENSER

Herself Imitation Man Nature Truth
Together linkt with adamantine chains.
EDMUND SPENSER

Chain Togetherness
All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
EDMUND SPENSER

Love Sweet Voice
Greatest god below the sky.
EDMUND SPENSER

God Greatness Sky
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.
EDMUND SPENSER

Angel Desire Fashion Heart Leadership Stop Talk Teaching
Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
EDMUND SPENSER

Inspirational Love Power
What more felicity can fall to creature, than to enjoy delight with liberty?
EDMUND SPENSER

Creature Enjoyment Fall Liberty
Bright as does the morning star appear, Out of the east with flaming locks bedight, To tell the dawning day is drawing near.
EDMUND SPENSER

Appearance Bed Bright Flame Light Morning Stars
And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
EDMUND SPENSER

Happiness Pain
To be wise and eke to love, Is granted scarce to gods above.
EDMUND SPENSER

God Grant Love Wisdom
Fresh spring the herald of love’s mighty king.
EDMUND SPENSER

King Love Spring
Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
EDMUND SPENSER

Angel Gratitude Music One Liner Thankful
Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
EDMUND SPENSER

Freedom Gold
Sluggish idleness–the nurse of sin.
EDMUND SPENSER

Freedom Sin Wasted Time
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 SPENSER

Myself Promise Reason Season Time

Man’s wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.

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Man’s wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.

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Popular Authors

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