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Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Thee
Epigraphs
Darkness
Solicit
Men
Mould
Maker
Request
Clay
Promote
Makers

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O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
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So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
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Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.
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These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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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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On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
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Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
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Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
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From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.
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From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.
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Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.
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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
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Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, Covering the earth with odours, fruits, flocks, Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, But all to please and sate the curious taste?
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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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O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
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Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
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Impostor do not charge most innocent Nature, As if she would her children should be riotous With her abundance she, good cateress, Means her provision only to the good, That live according to her sober laws, And holy dictate of spare temperance.
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They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.
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