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Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Lucifer
Awake
Arise
Fall
Ever

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His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.
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Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round
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As therefore the state of man now is, what wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear, without the knowledge of good and evil?
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And as an ev'ning dragon came, Assailant on the perched roosts And nests in order rang'd Of tame villatic fowl.
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Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
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What if Earth be but the shadow of Heaven and things therein - each other like, more than on Earth is thought?
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Nor aught availed him now to have built in heaven high towers nor did he scrape by all his engines, but was headlong sent with his industrious crew to build in hell.
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Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.
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And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
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Our two first parents, yet the only two Of mankind, in the happy garden placed, Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love In blissful solitude.
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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
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And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?
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Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.
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Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam.
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Let none admire that riches grow in hell that soil may best deserve the precious bane.
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Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
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Necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
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