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Heav'nly love shall outdoo Hellish hate

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Hellish
Heav
Shall
Hate
Love

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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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What is strength without a double share of wisdom?
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Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men Unless there be who think not God at all.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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No war or battle sound Was heard the world around.
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Meanwhile the Adversary of God and man, Satan with thoughts inflamed of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell Explores his solitary flight.
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Each tree Laden with fairest fruit, that hung to th' eye Tempting, stirr'd in me sudden appetite To pluck and eat.
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Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?
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O why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men as angels without feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
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My sentence is for open war.
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And as an ev'ning dragon came, Assailant on the perched roosts And nests in order rang'd Of tame villatic fowl.
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And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, This pendent world, in bigness as a star Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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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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Our reason is our law.
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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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And sing to those that hold the vital shears And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
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So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair that ever since in love's embraces met -- Adam, the goodliest man of men since born his sons the fairest of her daughters Eve.
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Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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