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What if Earth be but the shadow of Heaven and things therein - each other like, more than on Earth is thought?

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Heaven
Thought
Earth
Things
Like
Therein
Shadow

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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
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Believe and be confirmed.
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Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
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Ah gentle pair, ye little think how nigh Your change approaches, when all these delights Will vanish and deliver ye to woe, More woe, the more your taste is now of joy.
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
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On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
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As in an organ from one blast of wind To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes.
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Calm of mind, all passion spent.
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Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.
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His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.
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The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
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Where all life dies death lives.
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Not to know me argues yourselves unknown.
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Tis chastity, my brother, chastity She that has that is clad in complete steel, And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, Will dare to soil her virgin purity.
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Day and night, Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new.
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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
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