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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Spells
Breathed
Mighty
Trance
Cell
Prophetic
Pale
Eyed
Priests
Priest
Cells
Prophecy
Inspire
Spell
Inspires

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Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown in courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, where most may wonder at the workmanship.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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Our country is where ever we are well off.
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There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.
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Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.
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My sentence is for open war.
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O when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
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Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven firstborn! Or of th' eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate!
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Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?
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Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and grey.
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Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar.
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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For Solomon, he lived at ease, and full Of honour, wealth, high fare, aimed not beyond Higher design than to enjoy his state.
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