Edmund Spenser ( 10 of 15 )
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.
And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy,
rich or poor.
It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy,
rich or poor.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away;
read more
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.
Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercie ever hope to have?
Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercie ever hope to have?
O happy earth,
Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!
O happy earth,
Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!
For take thy ballaunce if thou be so wise,
And weigh the winds that under heaven doth blow;
read more
For take thy ballaunce if thou be so wise,
And weigh the winds that under heaven doth blow;
Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise;
Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow.
Entire affection hateth nicer hands.
Entire affection hateth nicer hands.
Don Chaucer. well of English undefyled
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
Don Chaucer. well of English undefyled
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
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.