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Satan so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
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Satan
Former
Name
Heard
Names
Call
Heaven
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Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell, By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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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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Temper justice with mercy.
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O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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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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And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold, And pavement stars,--as stars to thee appear Seen in the galaxy, that milky way Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest Powder'd with stars.
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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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O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
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Unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing.
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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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Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles for smiles from reason flow.
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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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It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.
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