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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Thrones
Virtues
Titles
Powers
Remain
Merely
Virtue
Dominions
Dominion

More quotes by John Milton

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My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!
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Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand in the sight of God enthroned, our happy state hold, as you yours, while our obedience hold. On other surety none: freely we serve, because we freely love.
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Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.
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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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God, who oft descends to visit men Unseen, and through their habitations walks To mark their doings.
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Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, Covering the earth with odours, fruits, flocks, Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, But all to please and sate the curious taste?
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But all was false and hollow though his tongue Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, 4 to perplex and dash Maturest counsels.
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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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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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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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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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Satan so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
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Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
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A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses
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Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.
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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.
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Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd.
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