Edmund Spenser

Amoretti

LXIIІ
After long storms and tempests' sad assay,
Which hardly I endured heretofore:
In dread of death and dangerous dismay,
With which my silly bark was tossed sore:
I do at length descry the happy shore,
In which I hope ere long for to arrive;
Fair soil it seems from far and fraught with store
Of all that dear and dainty is alive.
Most happy he that can at last achieve
The joyous safety of so sweet a rest:
Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive
Remembrance of all pains which him oppressed.
All pains are nothing in respect to this,
All sorrows short that gain eternal bliss.