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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
Haunted
Parting
Pale
Sent
Spring
Genius
Poplar
Dale
Sighing

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The childhood shows the man As morning shows the day. Be famous then By wisdom as thy empire must extend, So let extend thy mind o'er all the world.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.
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For the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life.
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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?
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And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained?
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His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
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Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.
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Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
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Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
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Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
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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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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
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For truth is strong next to the Almighty. She needs no policies or stratagems or licensings to make her victorious. These are the shifts and the defences that error uses against her power.
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It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.
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Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
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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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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.
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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
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