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 SPENSERSuch is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
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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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For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
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So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life the leaf, the bud, the flower.
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Man’s wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
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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 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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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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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.
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Fresh spring the herald of love’s mighty king.
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Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? – Epithalamion
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All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
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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 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.
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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
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Waking love suffereth no sleepe: Say, that raging love dothe appall the weake stomacke: Say, that lamenting love marreth the musicall.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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All for love, and nothing for reward.
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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
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All flesh doth frailty breed!
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Sluggish idleness–the nurse of sin.
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The noblest mind the best contentment has.
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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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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?
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