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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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Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.
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Necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
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Wisdom's self oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, where with her best nurse Contemplation, she plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings that in the various bustle of resort were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
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For the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life.
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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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I must not quarrel with the will Of highest dispensation, which herein, Haply had ends above my reach to know.
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Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
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Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
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But that from us aught should ascend to Heav'n So prevalent as to concern the mind Of God, high-bless'd, or to incline His will, Hard to belief may seem yet this will prayer.
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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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Hail, wedded love, mysterious law true source of human happiness.
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But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light.
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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
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Thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers.
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Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.
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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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Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
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Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.
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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
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