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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Fiend
Windy
Prey
Bent
Walked
Sea
Land
Alone

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Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame,-nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
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Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
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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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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
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Moping melancholy And moon-struck madness.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child!
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Love Virtue, she alone is free, She can teach ye how to climb Higher than the sphery chime Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
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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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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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Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
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Our reason is our law.
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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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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
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Heaven Is as the Book of God before thee set, Wherein to read His wondrous works.
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With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
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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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