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Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Sweet
Though
Back
Firsts
Recoils
First
Recoil
Long
Bitterness
Revenge
Bitter

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O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost
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As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?
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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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And to thy husband's will Thine shall submit he over thee shall rule.
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Solitude sometimes is best society.
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All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.
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So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair that ever since in love's embraces met -- Adam, the goodliest man of men since born his sons the fairest of her daughters Eve.
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So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
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Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.
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O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
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For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
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The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome, still paying, still to owe Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and dischargd what burden then?
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Hail, wedded love, mysterious law true source of human happiness.
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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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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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Where all life dies death lives.
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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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A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond / Frightened the reign of Chaos and old Night.
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And these gems of Heav'n, her starry train.
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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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