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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.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Dream
Notes
Wood
Trod
Wells
Summer
Shakespeare
Anon
Well
Sight
Poets
Youthful
Children
Poet
Streams
Sights
Learned
Native
Haunted
Learning
Fancy
Sock
Warble
Stage
Wild
Sweetest
Pageantry
Child
Woods
Stream
Revelry

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To know that which lies before us in daily life is the prime wisdom.
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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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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
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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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All seemed well pleased, all seemed, but were not all.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
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Satan so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
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His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.
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Then might ye see Cowls, hoods, and habits with their wearers tost And flutter'd into rags then reliques, beads, Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, The sport of winds all these upwhirl'd aloft Fly to the rearward of the world far off Into a limbo large and broad, since called The paradise of fools.
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Unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing.
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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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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope.
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Servant of God, well done! well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintain'd Against revolted multitudes the cause of truth.
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Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
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Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
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