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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.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Daughter
Pair
Hand
Sons
Since
Pairs
Born
Adam
Hands
Passed
Loveliest
Ever
Mets
Fairest
Men
Son
Embraces
Love
Embrace
Daughters

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But that from us aught should ascend to Heav'n So prevalent as to concern the mind Of God, high-bless'd, or to incline His will, Hard to belief may seem yet this will prayer.
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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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The end of all learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love and imitate Him.
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Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame,-nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
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And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell By doom severe.
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How oft, in nations gone corrupt, And by their own devices brought down to servitude, That man chooses bondage before liberty. Bondage with ease before strenuous liberty.
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In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
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Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
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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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This is servitude, To serve th'unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled.
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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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Live while ye may, Yet happy pair.
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What is dark within me, illumine.
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Wisdom's self oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, where with her best nurse Contemplation, she plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings that in the various bustle of resort were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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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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O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
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Rhime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter...the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing.
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