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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Disastrous
Eclipse
Twilight

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Behold now this vast city [London] a city of refuge, the mansion-house of liberty, encompassed and surrounded with His protection.
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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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O why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men as angels without feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
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A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses
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Indu'd With sanctity of reason.
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Danger will wink on opportunity.
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Evil, be thou my good.
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Where all life dies death lives.
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The never-ending flight Of future days.
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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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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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Assuredly we bring not innocence not the world, we bring impurity much rather: that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary.
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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
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Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
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Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
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For so I created them free and free they must remain.
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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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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This is the month, and this the happy morn, wherein the Son of heaven's eternal King, of wedded Maid and Virgin Mother born, our great redemption from above did bring.
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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