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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Glittering
Ranks
Display
Wings
Seen
Cherubim
Seraphim

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The Tree of Knowledge grew fast by, Knowledge of Good bought dear by knowing ill.
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Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
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From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.
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This is the month, and this the happy morn, wherein the Son of heaven's eternal King, of wedded Maid and Virgin Mother born, our great redemption from above did bring.
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What is strength without a double share of wisdom?
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Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.
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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles for smiles from reason flow.
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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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The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.
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Not to know me argues yourselves unknown.
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This manner of writing wherein knowing myself inferior to myself? I have the use, as I may account it, but of my left hand.
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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
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Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.
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O why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men as angels without feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
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Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
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