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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!
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Darkness
Sweetly
Silence
Ravens
Upon
Float
Fall
Floats
Night
Smiled
Every
Till
Vaulted
Wings
Smoothing
Empty
Raven
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O when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
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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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For truth is strong next to the Almighty. She needs no policies or stratagems or licensings to make her victorious. These are the shifts and the defences that error uses against her power.
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Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.
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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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The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
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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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Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
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So he with difficulty and labour hard Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour he.
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With eyes Of conjugal attraction unreprov'd. Imparadised in one another's arms. With thee conversing I forget all time. And feel that I am happier than I know.
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
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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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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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Now conscience wakes despair That slumber'd,-wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse.
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We shall sooner have the fowl by hatching the egg than by smashing it. Abraham Lincoln, White House speech 11 April 1865. Or arm th' obdured breast With stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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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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The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
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