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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Reproach
Blindness
Eyes
Eye
People

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Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind.
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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
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Yet hold it more humane, more heav'nly, first, By winning words to conquer willing hearts, And make persuasion do the work of fear.
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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/With loss of Eden, till one greater Man/Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,/Sing heavenly muse
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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What is dark within me, illumine.
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Time is the subtle thief of youth.
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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.
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God, who oft descends to visit men Unseen, and through their habitations walks To mark their doings.
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And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.
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By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes.
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Evil, be thou my good.
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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.
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With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
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His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.
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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
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Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.
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