Edmund Spenser

Virtue may be cheerful without forgetting its dignity.

Virtue may be cheerful without forgetting its dignity.

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.

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.

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away;
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One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away;
Agayne I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tyde and made my paynes his prey.

Yet was he but a squire of low degree.

Yet was he but a squire of low degree.