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He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun Himself his own dungeon.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Enjoy
Breasts
Benighted
Light
Bright
Dungeon
May
Sun
Bustle
Soul
Thoughts
Dungeons
Walks
Hides
Within
Foul
Dark
Breast
Clear
Centre

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Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
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But infinite in pardon is my Judge.
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
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A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond / Frightened the reign of Chaos and old Night.
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How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!
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Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind.
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Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child!
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In vain doth valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.
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Among the writers of all ages, some deserve fame, and have it others neither have nor deserve it some have it, not deserving it others, though deserving it, yet totally miss it, or have it not equal to their deserts.
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Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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The virtuous mind that ever walks attended By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
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It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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For books are as meats and viands are some of good, some of evil sub-stance.
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Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.
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For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.
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I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs By the known rules of ancient liberty, When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes and dogs.
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And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
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