Quotes by "Edmund Spenser"

The poet's scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. The Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.

It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.

Aye me, how many perils do enfold The righteous man, to make him daily fall? Were not, that heavenly grace doth him uphold, And steadfast truth acquite him out of all.

I hate the day, because it lendeth light To see all things, but not my love to see.

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.

My Love Is Like To Ice, And I To Fire My love is like to ice, and I to fire; How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolv'd through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat? Or how comes it that my exceeding heat Is not delay’d by her heart-frozen cold; But that I burn much more in boiling sweat, And feel my flames augmented manifold! What more miraculous thing may be told, That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice; And ice, which is congeal’d with senseless cold, Should kindle fire by wonderful device! Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.

Yet gold all is not, that doth gold seem, Nor all good knights, that shake well spear and shield: The worth of all men by their end esteem, And then praise, or due reproach them yield.

Why then should witless man so much misweene That nothing is but that which he hath seene?

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.

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.

Gold all is not that doth golden seem.

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

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.

He that strives to touch the starts, oft stumbles at a straw.

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

The poets' scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.

Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.

Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, Ease after war, death after life does greatly please.