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God, who oft descends to visit men Unseen, and through their habitations walks To mark their doings.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Visit
God
Mark
Walks
Men
Habitations
Descends
Doings
Unseen

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Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd.
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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
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Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.
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Death ready stands to interpose his dart.
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Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar.
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Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled.
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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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These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
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Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.
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With thee conversing I forget all time.
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Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
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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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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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There is no truth sure enough to justify persecution.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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. . . for beauty stands In the admiration only of weak minds Led captive. Cease to admire, and all her plumes Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy, At every sudden slighting quite abash'd.
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