Edmund Spenser Quotes

And he that strives to touch the stars
Oft stumbles at a straw.

No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.

They that haue much, feare much to loose thereby,
And store of cares doth follow riches store.

The waies, through which my weary steps I guyde,
In this delightful land of Faery,
Are so exceeding spacious and wyde,
And sprinckled with such sweet variety,
Of all that pleasant is to eare or eye,
That I nigh rauisht with rare thoughts delight,
My tedious trauell doe forget thereby;
And when I gin to feele decay of might,
It strength to me supplies and chears my dulled spright.

One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon the Strand

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washèd it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide and made my pains his prey.
Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay
A mortal thing so to immortalise;
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wipèd out likewise.
Not so (quod I); let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame;
My verse your virtues rare shall eternise,
And in the heavens write your glorious name:
Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew.

For love is a celestial harmony
Of likely hearts compos'd of stars' concent,
Which join together in sweet sympathy,
To work each other's joy and true content,
Which they have harbour'd since their first descent
Out of their heavenly bowers, where they did see
And know each other here belov'd to be.

Death slue not him, but he made death his ladder to the skies.

Her berth was of the wombe of morning dew, And her conception of the joyous Prime.

The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide,
But forth vnto the darksome hole he went,
And looked in:his glistring armor made
A litle glooming light, much like a shade,

Leaves, lines, and rhymes, seek her to please alone,
Whom if ye please, I care for other none.

Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.

Hark, how the cheerful birds do chaunt their lays, and carol of love's praise.

What more felicity can fall to creature, than to enjoy delight with liberty.

GOE, little booke: thy selfe present,
As child whose parent is unkent,
To him that is the president
Of noblesse and of chevalree:

Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.