Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenserwas an English poet best known for The Faerie Queene, an epic poem and fantastical allegory celebrating the Tudor dynasty and Elizabeth I. He is recognized as one of the premier craftsmen of nascent Modern English verse, and is often considered one of the greatest poets in the English language...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
fire envy rising
Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.
men evening states
Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
good-day night long
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.
lying countenance
I trow that countenance cannot lie,Whose thoughts are legible in the eie.
squares firsts world
Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square,From the first point of his appointed sourse,And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse.
judging firsts world
Through knowledge we behold the world's creation, How in his cradle first he fostered was; And judge of Nature's cunning operation, How things she formed of a formless mass.
grief epic flames
He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striveth to supresse.
flower rose red
She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.
depressing pain pleasure
And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
broken-heart heartbreak hate
I hate the day, because it lendeth light To see all things, but not my love to see.
sweet time spring
There is continual spring, and harvest there Continual, both meeting at one time: For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear, And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime, And eke attonce the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruits load: The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet above, And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad.
time moving numbers
Ah when will this long weary day have end, And lend me leave to come unto my love? How slowly do the hours their numbers spend! How slowly does sad Time his feathers move!
wise running men
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.
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take; For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.