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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
May
Lap
Live
Ripe
Like
Motherhood
Drop
Till
Thou
Fruit
Mother

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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.
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And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell By doom severe.
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But infinite in pardon is my Judge.
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Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?
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Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.
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So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lostEvil,be thou my good.
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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
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Servant of God, well done! well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintain'd Against revolted multitudes the cause of truth.
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I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs By the known rules of ancient liberty, When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes and dogs.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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O why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men as angels without feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
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Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.
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