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Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Bends
Tread
Velvet
Thus
Feet
Head
Cowslip

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Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
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The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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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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Not to know me argues yourselves unknown.
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My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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But hail thou Goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.
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The virtuous mind that ever walks attended By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
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Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.
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Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.
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I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
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And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell By doom severe.
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By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes.
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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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