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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Doleful
Dwell
Rest
Peace
Hope
Comes
Never

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His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and grey.
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My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.
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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
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But all was false and hollow though his tongue Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, 4 to perplex and dash Maturest counsels.
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There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.
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He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
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A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
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Temper justice with mercy.
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God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest They also serve who only stand and wait.
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And as an ev'ning dragon came, Assailant on the perched roosts And nests in order rang'd Of tame villatic fowl.
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Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare, more apt To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
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What boots it at one gate to make defence, And at another to let in the foe?
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What if Earth be but the shadow of Heaven and things therein - each other like, more than on Earth is thought?
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So glistered the dire Snake , and into fraud Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the Tree Of Prohibition, root of all our woe.
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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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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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Reason is also choice.
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O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Liv'd ignorant of future, so had borne My part of evil only.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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