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From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Parting
Pale
Sent
Spring
Genius
Poplar
Dale
Sighing
Haunted

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Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.
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Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
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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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On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
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Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.
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The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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Farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear
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Most men admire Virtue who follow not her lore.
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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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Only add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, By name to come call'd charity, the soul Of all the rest then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shall possess A Paradise within thee, happier far.
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Knowledge forbidden? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that? Can it be sin to know, Can it be death? And do they only stand By ignorance? Is that their happy state, The proof of their obedience and their faith? O fair foundation laid whereon to build Their ruin!
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The spirits perverse with easy intercourse pass to and fro, to tempt or punish mortals.
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His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.
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Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
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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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