At last, the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre, And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre; And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy ayre. Edmund Spenser More Quotes by Edmund Spenser More Quotes From Edmund Spenser Waking love suffereth no sleepe: Edmund Spenser waking passion rage Fondnesse it were for any being free, Edmund Spenser being-free freedom bees So Orpheus did for his owne bride, Edmund Spenser woods singing answers good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete? Edmund Spenser mourning broke art So passeth, in the passing of a day, Edmund Spenser passings bud passing All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring Edmund Spenser flower earth spring Like as the culver on the bared bough Edmund Spenser mourning mates absence Joy may you have and gentle hearts content Edmund Spenser heart may joy Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Edmund Spenser flying poetry wings My Love is like to ice, and I to fire: Edmund Spenser ice fire love-is And through the hall there walked to and fro A jolly yeoman, marshall of the same, Whose name was Appetite; he did bestow Both guestes and meate, whenever in they came, And knew them how to order without blame. Edmund Spenser names food order Greatest god below the sky. Edmund Spenser money sky Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, Edmund Spenser breathing play sweet Oft stumbles at a straw. Edmund Spenser straws The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate. Edmund Spenser he-man self men For next to Death is Sleepe to be compared; Edmund Spenser next house sleep For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne. Edmund Spenser deeds evil may Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords. Edmund Spenser wrath sight war Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit! Edmund Spenser flesh men war Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, Edmund Spenser sweet-love haste sweet
