Edmund Spenser

O happy earth,
Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!

O happy earth,
Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!

And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.

And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
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And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore.

It is an honourable thing to be merciful to the vanquished.

It is an honourable thing to be merciful to the vanquished.

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring,
His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring,
His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.