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But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Return
Gone
Art
Change
Must
Never
Thou
Heavy

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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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Our cure, to be no more sad cure!
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This is servitude, To serve th'unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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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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But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began.
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If all the world Should in a pet of temp'rance, feed on pulse, Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, Th' All-giver would be unthank'd, would be unprais'd.
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Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
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Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north - wind's breath, And stars to set but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
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Yet hold it more humane, more heav'nly, first, By winning words to conquer willing hearts, And make persuasion do the work of fear.
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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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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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It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.
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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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And to thy husband's will Thine shall submit he over thee shall rule.
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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
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They are the troublers, they are the dividers of unity, who neglect and don't permit others to unite those dissevered pieces which are yet wanting to the body of Truth.
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Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.
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