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Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Homeward
Ruth
Melt
Angel
Look
Looks

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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.
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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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Rhime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter...the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing.
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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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Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled.
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And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
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Freely we serve, Because we freely love, as in our will To love or not in this we stand or fall.
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O madness to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbidden made choice to rear His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.
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O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
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It is not good that man should be alone. ... Hitherto all things that have been named, were approved of God to be very good: loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good: whether it be a thing, or the want of something, I labour not.
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Where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce, Strive here for mast'ry.
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Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles for smiles from reason flow.
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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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The planets in their station list'ning stood.
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Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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