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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Hour
Brought
Silence
Sleep
Hours
Friendliest
Dusky
Midnight

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Nor love thy life, nor hate but what thou livest, Live well how long, or short, permit to Heaven.
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Lords are lordliest in their wine.
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How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!
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What is strength without a double share of wisdom?
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven firstborn! Or of th' eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate!
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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
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Who can in reason then or right assume monarchy over such as live by right his equals, if in power or splendor less, in freedom equal?
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Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round
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Those whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
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The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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Danger will wink on opportunity.
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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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Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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Time is the subtle thief of youth.
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Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
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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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