Quote

On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.

John Milton

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Shelves
Trip
Sand
Pert
Fairy
Tawny
Dapper
Elves
Sands
Fairies

More quotes by John Milton

Image
Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
John Milton
Image
So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
John Milton
Image
Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
John Milton
Image
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
John Milton
Image
Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.
John Milton
Image
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.
John Milton
Image
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
John Milton
Image
Thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers.
John Milton
Image
Lords are lordliest in their wine.
John Milton
Image
To live a life half dead, a living death.
John Milton
Image
The planets in their station list'ning stood.
John Milton
Image
Then might ye see Cowls, hoods, and habits with their wearers tost And flutter'd into rags then reliques, beads, Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, The sport of winds all these upwhirl'd aloft Fly to the rearward of the world far off Into a limbo large and broad, since called The paradise of fools.
John Milton
Image
Tis chastity, my brother, chastity She that has that is clad in complete steel, And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, Will dare to soil her virgin purity.
John Milton
Image
Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
John Milton
Image
The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
John Milton
Image
Our cure, to be no more sad cure!
John Milton
Image
A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
John Milton
Image
It is for homely features to keep home,- They had their name thence coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool. What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
John Milton
Image
Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
John Milton
Image
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
John Milton