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If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Failure
Failing
Stubble
Built
Rottenness
Earth
Pillar
Firmament
Pillars
Base
Fail
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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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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.
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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.
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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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And to thy husband's will Thine shall submit he over thee shall rule.
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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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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
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Let us seek Death, or he not found, supply With our own hands his office on ourselves Why stand we longer shivering under fears, That show no end but death, and have the power, Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy.
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Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
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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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Lords are lordliest in their wine.
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The childhood shows the man As morning shows the day. Be famous then By wisdom as thy empire must extend, So let extend thy mind o'er all the world.
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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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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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Only add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, By name to come call'd charity, the soul Of all the rest then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shall possess A Paradise within thee, happier far.
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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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He who tempts, though in vain, at last asperses The tempted with dishonor foul, supposed Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation.
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Evil, be thou my good.
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God, who oft descends to visit men Unseen, and through their habitations walks To mark their doings.
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