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But hail thou Goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Wisdom
Bright
Visage
Black
Thou
Saintly
Sense
Sight
Hue
Human
Therefore
Weaker
Humans
Whose
Hail
View
Sage
Holy
Goddess
Staid
Views
Melancholy
Divinest

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If there be any difference among professed believers as to the sense of Scripture, it is their duty to tolerate such difference in each other, until God shall have revealed the truth to all.
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By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes.
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His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
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The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.
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Meanwhile the Adversary of God and man, Satan with thoughts inflamed of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell Explores his solitary flight.
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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 vain doth valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.
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Subdue By force, who reason for their law refuse, Right reason for their law.
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None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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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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Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
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What is strength without a double share of wisdom?
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Yet hold it more humane, more heav'nly, first, By winning words to conquer willing hearts, And make persuasion do the work of fear.
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Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
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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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But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.
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Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
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