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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
Fall
Ever
Lucifer
Awake
Arise

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Necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
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In vain doth valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.
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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.
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Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
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Then might ye see Cowls, hoods, and habits with their wearers tost And flutter'd into rags then reliques, beads, Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, The sport of winds all these upwhirl'd aloft Fly to the rearward of the world far off Into a limbo large and broad, since called The paradise of fools.
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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
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I call a complete and generous education that which fits a man to perform justly, skillfully, and magnanimously all the offices, both private and public, of peace and war.
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So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair that ever since in love's embraces met -- Adam, the goodliest man of men since born his sons the fairest of her daughters Eve.
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O madness to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbidden made choice to rear His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
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A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses
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Hide me from day's garish eye.
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Confidence imparts a wonderful inspiration to the possessor.
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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
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Evil, be thou my good.
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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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As in an organ from one blast of wind To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes.
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The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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