John Milton Quotes
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Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train.
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Where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand; For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce, Strive here for mast'ry.
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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.
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And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
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The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous humRuns 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 spellInspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
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Taste this, and be henceforth among the Gods thyself a Goddess.
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When I consider how my light is spent,Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,And that one talent which is death to hideLodged with me useless.
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What hath night to do with sleep?
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Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears: Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
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I must not quarrel with the will Of highest dispensation, which herein, Haply had ends above my reach to know.
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As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?
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More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchang'd To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues.
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
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It is not hard for any man who hath a Bible in his hand to borrow good words and holy sayings in abundance; but to make them his own is a work of grace only from above.
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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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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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Under the opening eyelids of the morn,We drove afield; and both together heardWhat time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night.
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To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
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And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens take his pleasure.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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The great Emathian conqueror bid spareThe house of Pindarus, when temple and towerWent to the ground.
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A bevy of fair women.