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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Cause
Goes
Causes
Whatever
Woman
Ever
Men
Argument
Worse

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Gratitude bestows reverence.....changing forever how we experience life and the world.
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.
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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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For so I created them free and free they must remain.
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.
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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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These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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So glistered the dire Snake , and into fraud Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the Tree Of Prohibition, root of all our woe.
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Subdue By force, who reason for their law refuse, Right reason for their law.
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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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Yet much remains To conquer still peace hath her victories No less renowned then war, new foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
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My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.
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Our country is where ever we are well off.
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