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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Wild
Waste
Dark
Expos
Night
Starless
World
Frown
Continent
Boundless
Continents

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Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
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Me miserable! Which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell myself am hell And in the lowest deep a lower deep, Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
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It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
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Now conscience wakes despair That slumber'd,-wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse.
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What boots it at one gate to make defence, And at another to let in the foe?
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I call a complete and generous education that which fits a man to perform justly, skillfully, and magnanimously all the offices, both private and public, of peace and war.
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.
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Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell, By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale.
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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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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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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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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
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Danger will wink on opportunity.
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God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest They also serve who only stand and wait.
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Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.
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Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold that shall befall Him or his children.
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I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend.
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
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