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The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Plato
Retirement
Academe
Thick
Trill
Notes
Attic
Bird
Attics
Summer
Olive
Long
Olives
Grove

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None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
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Let us seek Death, or he not found, supply With our own hands his office on ourselves Why stand we longer shivering under fears, That show no end but death, and have the power, Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy.
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The end of all learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love and imitate Him.
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For so I created them free and free they must remain.
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Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare, more apt To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
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Where all life dies death lives.
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The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
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For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.
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It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.
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But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began.
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Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar.
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To overcome in battle, and subdue Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch Of human glory.
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Those graceful acts, those thousand decencies, that daily flow from all her words and actions, mixed with love and sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned union of mind, or in us both one soul.
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Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
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In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
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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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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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