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Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wreck'd.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Whereon
Wreck
Wrecks
Rocks
Greatest
Men

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From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
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Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.
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Reason also is choice.
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The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
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And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
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Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
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Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
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My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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For truth is strong next to the Almighty. She needs no policies or stratagems or licensings to make her victorious. These are the shifts and the defences that error uses against her power.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun Himself his own dungeon.
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But hail thou Goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.
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The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome, still paying, still to owe Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and dischargd what burden then?
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No war or battle sound Was heard the world around.
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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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How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!
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Most men admire Virtue who follow not her lore.
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God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more that the restraint of ten vicious.
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