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And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell By doom severe.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Without
Adjudged
Must
Doom
Redemption
Severe
Mankind
Hell
Lost
Death

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This horror will grow mild, this darkness light Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting--since our present lot appears For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe.
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Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.
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How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
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O Conscience, into what abyss of fears And horrors hast thou driven me, out of which I find no way, from deep to deeper plunged.
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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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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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He who tempts, though in vain, at last asperses The tempted with dishonor foul, supposed Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation.
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My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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