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Witness this new-made world, another Heav'n From Heaven Gate not farr, founded in view On the clear Hyaline, the Glassie Sea Of amplitude almost immense, with Starr's Numerous, and every Starr perhaps a world Of destined habitation.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Every
View
Predictions
World
Perhaps
Founded
Views
Destined
Amplitude
Almost
Aviation
Starr
Clear
Immense
Habitation
Heaven
Gates
Heav
Another
Witness
Numerous
Made
Sea
Gate

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Reason is also choice.
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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.
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How oft, in nations gone corrupt, And by their own devices brought down to servitude, That man chooses bondage before liberty. Bondage with ease before strenuous liberty.
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I must not quarrel with the will Of highest dispensation, which herein, Haply had ends above my reach to know.
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And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained?
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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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Ah gentle pair, ye little think how nigh Your change approaches, when all these delights Will vanish and deliver ye to woe, More woe, the more your taste is now of joy.
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Love Virtue, she alone is free, She can teach ye how to climb Higher than the sphery chime Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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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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A good principle not rightly understood may prove as hurtful as a bad.
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Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
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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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No war or battle sound Was heard the world around.
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How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
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Believe and be confirmed.
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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
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That space the Evil One abstracted stood From his own evil, and for the time remained Stupidly good, of enmity disarmed, Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge .
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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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Now came still evening on and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad: Silence accompanied for beast and bird, They to they grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.
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