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Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Epitaph
Memorial
Crown
Crowns
Engagement
Bliss
Mutual
Headstone
Love
Gravestone

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Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
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There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.
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Hell has no benefits, only torture.
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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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Farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear
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As in an organ from one blast of wind To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes.
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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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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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Prudence is the virtue by which we discern what is proper to do under various circumstances in time and place.
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Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round
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What if Earth be but the shadow of Heaven and things therein - each other like, more than on Earth is thought?
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Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.
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The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the Moon.
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Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
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