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How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Earth
Secure
Gladly
Would
Glad
Gladness
Meet
Lap
Dying
Mortality
Rest
Sentence
Sleep
Sensible
Death
Sentences
Mother
Lays

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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
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Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/With loss of Eden, till one greater Man/Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,/Sing heavenly muse
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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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Luck is the residue of design.
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Time is the subtle thief of youth.
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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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Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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Reason also is choice.
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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.
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I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend.
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Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
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It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.
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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.
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Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.
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Yet much remains To conquer still peace hath her victories No less renowned then war, new foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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