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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Neat
Choice
Taste
Shall
Choices
Repast
Light
Attic
Attics
Feast

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As in an organ from one blast of wind To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes.
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Evil into the mind of god or man may come and go, so unapproved, and leave no spot or blame behind.
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Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.
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Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of Eternity.
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It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.
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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.
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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
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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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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
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Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
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For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
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Yet much remains To conquer still peace hath her victories No less renowned then war, new foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
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Where no hope is left, is left no fear.
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Thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers.
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