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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
Darkness
Solicit
Men
Mould
Maker
Request
Clay
Promote
Makers
Thee
Epigraphs

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Earth felt the wound and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.
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Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
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Dark with excessive bright.
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Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
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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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Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.
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His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.
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And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, This pendent world, in bigness as a star Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.
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Our cure, to be no more sad cure!
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Where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce, Strive here for mast'ry.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
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There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.
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Knowledge forbidden? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that? Can it be sin to know, Can it be death? And do they only stand By ignorance? Is that their happy state, The proof of their obedience and their faith? O fair foundation laid whereon to build Their ruin!
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The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.
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With thee conversing I forget all time.
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Witness this new-made world, another Heav'n From Heaven Gate not farr, founded in view On the clear Hyaline, the Glassie Sea Of amplitude almost immense, with Starr's Numerous, and every Starr perhaps a world Of destined habitation.
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It is not good that man should be alone. ... Hitherto all things that have been named, were approved of God to be very good: loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good: whether it be a thing, or the want of something, I labour not.
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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.
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