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Earth felt the wound and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Works
Woe
Lost
Wound
Felt
Seat
Nature
Signs
Earth
Seats
Wounds
Losing
Gave
Sighing

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Nor aught availed him now to have built in heaven high towers nor did he scrape by all his engines, but was headlong sent with his industrious crew to build in hell.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.
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So little knows Any, but God alone, but perverts best things To worst abuse, or to their meanest use.
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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
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I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
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What is dark within me, illumine.
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Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round
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Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, Covering the earth with odours, fruits, flocks, Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, But all to please and sate the curious taste?
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Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them....I know they are as lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragon's teeth and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men.
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
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Evil into the mind of god or man may come and go, so unapproved, and leave no spot or blame behind.
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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Law can discover sin, but not remove, Save by those shadowy expiations weak.
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At His birth a star, unseen before in heaven, proclaims Him come.
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Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
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Hail, wedded love, mysterious law true source of human happiness.
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Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.
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The end then of learning is to repair the ruins of our first parents by regaining to know God aright, and out of that knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to be like him, as we may the nearest by possessing our souls of true virtue, which being united to the heavenly grace of faith makes up the highest perfection.
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With thee conversing I forget all time.
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