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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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Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/With loss of Eden, till one greater Man/Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,/Sing heavenly muse
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Ah gentle pair, ye little think how nigh Your change approaches, when all these delights Will vanish and deliver ye to woe, More woe, the more your taste is now of joy.
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O when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
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Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.
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For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
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As therefore the state of man now is, what wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear, without the knowledge of good and evil?
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God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest They also serve who only stand and wait.
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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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There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.
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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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The starry cope Of heaven.
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Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam.
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Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.
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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. That last infirmity of noble mind. To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
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Death to life is crown or shame.
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None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
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God shall be all in all.
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