For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
EDMUND SPENSERAll love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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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.
EDMUND SPENSER -
So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life the leaf, the bud, the flower.
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For that which all men then did virtue call, Is now called vice; and that which vice was hight, Is now hight virtue, and so used of all: Right now is wrong, and wrong that was is right.
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.
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What more felicity can fall to creature, than to enjoy delight with liberty?
EDMUND SPENSER -
All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
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 -
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.
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All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.
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Sluggish idleness–the nurse of sin.
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In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.
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But Justice, though her dome she doe prolong, Yet at the last she will her owne cause right.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Fretting grief the enemy of life.
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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