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Love Virtue, she alone is free, She can teach ye how to climb Higher than the sphery chime Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Higher
Chime
Virtue
Heav
Teach
Chimes
Alone
Stoop
Free
Stoops
Would
Feeble
Love
Climb
Climbs

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Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
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. . . for beauty stands In the admiration only of weak minds Led captive. Cease to admire, and all her plumes Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy, At every sudden slighting quite abash'd.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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Believe and be confirmed.
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From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.
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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies.
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And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
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Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child!
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Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song.
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Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell, By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale.
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Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.
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I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs By the known rules of ancient liberty, When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes and dogs.
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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Prudence is the virtue by which we discern what is proper to do under various circumstances in time and place.
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And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
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Law can discover sin, but not remove, Save by those shadowy expiations weak.
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Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd.
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