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Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Ties
Hidden
Chains
Harmony
Soul

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And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles for smiles from reason flow.
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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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Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
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Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.
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Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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To know that which lies before us in daily life is the prime wisdom.
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When language in common use in any country becomes irregular and depraved, it is followed by their ruin and degradation. For what do terms used without skill or meaning, which are at once corrupt and misapplied, denote but a people listless, supine, and ripe for servitude?
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Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song.
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Meanwhile the Adversary of God and man, Satan with thoughts inflamed of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell Explores his solitary flight.
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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.
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Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
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There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion, no orations equal to those of the prophets, and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
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Hate is of all things the mightiest divider, nay, is division itself. To couple hatred, therefore, though wedlock try all her golden links, and borrow to tier aid all the iron manacles and fetters of law, it does but seek to twist a rope of sand.
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Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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