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O when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Love
Joined
Pairs
Honour
Mutual
Meet

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Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
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And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
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Thy actions to thy words accord thy words To thy large heart give utterance due thy heart Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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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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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
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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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If at great things thou would'st arrive, Get riches first, get wealth, and treasure heap, Not difficult, if thou hearken to me Riches are mine, fortune is in my hand, They whom I favor thrive in wealth amain, While virtue, valor, wisdom, sit in want.
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From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
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My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!
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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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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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This is servitude, To serve th'unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled.
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Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
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O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Liv'd ignorant of future, so had borne My part of evil only.
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And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
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Which way I fly is Hell myself am Hell.
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Temper justice with mercy.
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