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

John Milton

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

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So dear I love him, that with him, all deaths I could endure, without him, live no life.
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O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost
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Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled.
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Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
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And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.
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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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The end of all learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love and imitate Him.
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The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
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But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began.
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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Moping melancholy And moon-struck madness.
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A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond / Frightened the reign of Chaos and old Night.
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Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.
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So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
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All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.
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Here we may reign secure and in my choice To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
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Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones Forget not.
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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
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