Background Image

...

But That From Us Aught Should Ascend To Heav'n So Prevalent As To Concern The Mind Of God, High-bless'd, Or To Incline His Will, Hard To Belief May Seem; Yet This Will Prayer.

-John Milton

...

Please Wait....
Translating....

But That From Us

John Milton

...

But That From Us Aught Should Ascend To Heav'n So Prevalent As To Concern The Mind Of God, High-bless'd, Or To Incline His Will, Hard To Belief May Seem; Yet This Will Prayer.

Views: 12

Topic

More From John Milton

Heaven Open'd Wide Her Ever During Gates, Harmonious Sound, On Golden Hinges Moving.

Yet Much Remains To Conquer Still; Peace Hath Her Victories No Less Renowned Then War, New Foes Arise Threatening To Bind Our Souls With Secular Chains: Help Us To Save Free Conscience From The Paw Of Hireling Wolves Whose Gospel Is Their Maw.

There Is Nothing That Making Men Rich And Strong But That Which They Carry Inside Of Them. True Wealth Is Of The Heart, Not Of The Hand.

The Hungry Sheep Look Up, And Are Not Fed.

O Visions Ill Foreseen! Better Had I Liv'd Ignorant Of Future, So Had Borne My Part Of Evil Only.

With Eyes Of Conjugal Attraction Unreprov'd. Imparadised In One Another's Arms. With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time. And Feel That I Am Happier Than I Know.

Zeal And Duty Are Not Slow But On Occasion's Forelock Watchful Wait.

But Hail Thou Goddess Sage And Holy, Hail, Divinest Melancholy, Whose Saintly Visage Is Too Bright To Hit The Sense Of Human Sight, And Therefore To Our Weaker View O'erlaid With Black, Staid Wisdom's Hue.

But God Himself Is Truth; In Propagating Which, As Men Display A Greater Integrity And Zeal, They Approach Nearer To The Similitude Of God, And Possess A Greater Portion Of His Love.

That Virtue Therefore Which Is But A Youngling In The Contemplation Of Evil, And Knows Not The Utmost That Vice Promises To Her Followers, And Rejects It, Is But A Blank Virtue, Not A Pure; Her Whiteness Is But An Excremental Whiteness.

And In Their Motions Harmony Divine So Smoothes Her Charming Tones, That God's Own Ear Listens Delighted.

Arm The Obdured Breast With Stubborn Patience As With Triple Steel.

To Adore The Conqueror, Who Now Beholds Cherub And Seraph Rolling In The Flood.

And Looks Commercing With The Skies, Thy Rapt Soul Sitting In Thine Eyes.

Not To Know Me Argues Yourselves Unknown.

Paradise Lost Book 9

And Storied Windows Richly Dight, Casting A Dim Religious Light.

Farewell Happy Fields, Where Joy Forever Dwells: Hail, Horrors, Hail.

But Pain Is Perfect Misery, The Worst Of Evils, And Excessive, Overturns All Patience.

The Oracles Are Dumb, No Voice Or Hideous Hum Runs Thro' The Arched Roof In Words Deceiving.

This Horror Will Grow Mild, This Darkness Light.

For Stories Teach Us, That Liberty Sought Out Of Season, In A Corrupt And Degenerate Age, Brought Rome Itself To A Farther Slavery: For Liberty Hath A Sharp And Double Edge, Fit Only To Be Handled By Just And Virtuous Men; To Bad And Dissolute, It Becomes A Mischief Unwieldy In Their Own Hands: Neither Is It Completely Given, But By Them Who Have The Happy Skill To Know What Is Grievance And Unjust To A People, And How To Remove It Wisely; What Good Laws Are Wanting, And How To Frame Them Substantially, That Good Men May Enjoy The Freedom Which They Merit, And The Bad The Curb Which They Need.

A Limbo Large And Broad, Since Call'd The Paradise Of Fools To Few Unknown.

In Naked Beauty Most Adorned.

When The New Light Which We Beg For Shines In Upon Us, There Be [those] Who Envy And Oppose, If It Come Not First In At Their Casements.

Where Peace And Rest Can Never Dwell, Hope Never Comes, That Comes To All.

The End Then Of Learning Is To Repair The Ruins Of Our First Parents By Regaining To Know God Aright, And Out Of That Knowledge To Love Him, To Imitate Him, To Be Like Him, As We May The Nearest By Possessing Our Souls Of True Virtue, Which Being United To The Heavenly Grace Of Faith Makes Up The Highest Perfection.

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.

How Charming Is Divine Philosophy! Not Harsh And Crabb

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.

And Yet On The Other Hand Unless Warinesse Be Us'd, As Good Almost Kill A Man As Kill A Good Book; Who Kills A Man Kills A Reasonable Creature, Gods Image, But Hee Who Destroyes A Good Booke, Kills Reason It Selfe, Kills The Image Of God, As It Were In The Eye.

And Feel By Turns The Bitter Change Of Fierce Extremes, Extremes By Change More Fierce.

Apostate, Still Thou Err'st, Nor End Wilt Find Offering, From The Paths Of Truth Remote.

Sweet Bird, That Shun The Noise Of Folly, Most Musical, Most Melancholy!

If There Be Any Difference Among Professed Believers As To The Sense Of Scripture, It Is Their Duty To Tolerate Such Difference In Each Other, Until God Shall Have Revealed The Truth To All.

No Man Who Knows Aught, Can Be So Stupid To Deny That All Men Naturally Were Born Free.

Ornate Rhetorick Taught Out Of The Rule Of Plato.... To Which Poetry Would Be Made Subsequent, Or Indeed Rather Precedent, As Being Less Suttle And Fine, But More Simple, Sensuous, And Passionate.

Thy Liquid Notes That Close The Eye Of Day.

O Shame To Men! Devil With Devil Damned Firm Concord Holds, Men Only Disagree Of Creatures Rational, Though Under Hope Of Heavenly Grace: And God Proclaiming Peace, Yet Live In Hatred, Enmity, And Strife Among Themselves, And Levy Cruel Wars, Wasting The Earth, Each Other To Destroy: As If (which Might Induce Us To Accord) Man Had Not Hellish Foes Enough Besides, That Day And Night For His Destruction Wait.

Let Her (truth) And Falsehood Grapple; Who Ever Knew Truth Put To The Worse In A Free And Open Encounter?

Truth And Falsehood

His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

I On The Other Side Us'd No Ambition To Commend My Deeds; The Deeds Themselves, Though Mute, Spoke Loud The Doer.

We Read Not That Christ Ever Exercised Force But Once; And That Was To Drive Profane Ones Out Of His Temple, Not To Force Them In.

How Oft, In Nations Gone Corrupt, And By Their Own Devices Brought Down To Servitude, That Man Chooses Bondage Before Liberty. Bondage With Ease Before Strenuous Liberty.

Reason Is Also Choice.

Quips And Cranks And Wanton Wiles, Nods And Becks And Wreathèd Smiles.

And To The Faithful: Death, The Gate Of Life.

Heaven Is For Thee Too High To Know What Passes There; Be Lowly Wise. Think Only What Concerns Thee And Thy Being; Dream Not Of Other Worlds, What Creatures There Live, In What State, Condition, Or Degree, Contented That Thus Far Hath Been Revealed.

Death Ready Stands To Interpose His Dart.

Hope Allows Us To Bid Farewell To Fear.

Let Not England Forget Her Precedence Of Teaching Nations How To Live.

Anger And Just Rebuke, And Judgment Given, That Brought Into This World A World Of Woe, Sin And Her Shadow Death, And Misery, Death's Harbinger.

Peace Hath Her Victories, No Less Renowned Than War.

Who, As They Sung, Would Take The Prison'd Soul And Lap It In Elysium.

No Date Prefixed Directs Me In The Starry Rubric Set.

Govern Well Thy Appetite, Lest Sin Surprise Thee, And Her Black Attendant Death.

Enflamed With The Study Of Learning And The Admiration Of Virtue; Stirred Up With High Hopes Of Living To Be Brave Men And Worthy Patriots, Dear To God, And Famous To All Ages.

Our State Cannot Be Severed, We Are One, One Flesh; To Lose Thee Were To Lose Myself.

And May At Last My Weary Age Find Out The Peaceful Hermitage, The Hairy Gown And Mossy Cell, Where I May Sit And Rightly Spell Of Every Star That Heaven Doth Shew, And Every Herb That Sips The Dew, Till Old Experience To Attain To Something Like Prophetic Strain.

Suffering For Truth's Sake Is Fortitude To Highest Victory, And To The Faithful Death The Gate Of Life.

The Childhood Shows The Man, As Morning Shows The Day.

Or If Virtue Feeble Were, Heav'n Itself Would Stoop To Her.

He Who Would Not Be Frustrate Of His Hope To Write Well Hereafter In Laudable Things Ought Himself To Be A True Poem.

Above The Smoke And Stir Of This Dim Spot Which Men Call Earth.

Next, To Make Them Expert In The Usefullest Points Of Grammar; And Withal To Season Them And Win Them Early To The Love Of Virtue And True Labour, Ere Any Flattering Seducement Or Vain Principle Seize Them Wandering, Some Easy And Delightful Book Of Education Would Be Read To Them; Whereof The Greeks Have Store, As Cebes, Plutarch, And Other Socratic Discourses.

And Oft, Though Wisdom Wake, Suspicion Sleeps At Wisdom's Gate, And To Simplicity Resigns Her Charge, While Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

The Liberty Of Conscience, Which Above All Other Things Ought To Be To All Men Dearest And Most Precious.

Anarchy Is The Sure Consequence Of Tyranny; For No Power That Is Not Limited By Laws Can Ever Be Protected By Them.

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.

Satan; So Call Him Now, His Former Name Is Heard No More In Heaven.

And I Will Place Within Them As A Guide My Umpire Conscience, Whom If They Will Hear Light After Light Well Used They Shall Attain, And To The End Persisting, Safe Arrive.

Such Sights As Youthful Poets Dream On Summer Eves By Haunted Stream. Then To The Well-trod Stage Anon, If Jonson's Learned Sock Be On, Or Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child, Warble His Native Wood-notes Wild.

Those Graceful Acts, Those Thousand Decencies, That Daily Flow From All Her Words And Actions, Mixed With Love And Sweet Compliance, Which Declare Unfeigned Union Of Mind, Or In Us Both One Soul.

Forget Thyself To Marble.

Courage Never To Submit Of Yield.

Straight Mine Eye Hath Caught New Pleasures Whilst The Landscape Round It Measures, Russet Lawns And Fallows Grey, Where The Nibbling Flocks Do Stray, Mountains On Whose Barren Breast The Labouring Clouds Do Often Rest; Meadows Trim With Daisies Pied, Shallow Brooks, And Rivers Wide.

Witness This New-made World, Another Heav'n From Heaven Gate Not Farr, Founded In View On The Clear Hyaline, The Glassie Sea; Of Amplitude Almost Immense, With Starr's Numerous, And Every Starr Perhaps A World Of Destined Habitation.

This Having Learnt, Thou Hast Attained The Sum Of Wisdom; Hope No Higher, Though All The Stars Thou Knew'st By Name, And All Th'ethereal Powers, All Secrets Of The Deep, All Nature's Works, Or Works Of God In Heav'n, Air, Earth, Or Sea, And All The Riches Of This World Enjoy'dst, And All The Rule, One Empire; Onlyadd Deeds To Thy Knowledge Answerable, Add Faith, Add Virtue, Patience, Temperance, Add Love, By Name To Come Called Charity, The Soul Of All The Rest: Then Wilt Thou Not Be Loath To Leave This Paradise, But Shalt Possess A Paradise Within Thee, Happier Far.

So May'st Thou Live, Till Like Ripe Fruit Thou Drop Into Thy Mother's Lap.

O Fleeting Joys Of Paradise, Dear Bought With Lasting Woes!

And The Jocund Rebecks Sound To Many A Youth, And Many A Maid, Dancing In The Checkered Shade. And Young And Old Come Forth To Play On A Sunshine Holiday.

O Loss Of Sight, Of Thee I Most Complain! Blind Among Enemies, O Worse Than Chains, Dungeon, Or Beggary, Or Decrepit Age!

As In An Organ From One Blast Of Wind To Many A Row Of Pipes The Soundboard Breathes.

Books Are Not Absolutely Dead Things, But Do Contain A Potency Of Life In Them....i Know They Are As Lively And As Vigorously Productive As Those Fabulous Dragon's Teeth And Being Sown Up And Down, May Chance To Spring Up Armed Men.

Have Hung My Dank And Dropping Weeds To The Stern God Of Sea.

This Horror Will Grow Mild, This Darkness Light; Besides What Hope The Never-ending Flight Of Future Days May Bring, What Chance, What Change Worth Waiting--since Our Present Lot Appears For Happy Though But Ill, For Ill Not Worst, If We Procure Not To Ourselves More Woe.

Virtue May Be Assailed, But Never Hurt, Surprised By Unjust Force, But Not Inthralled; Yea, Even That Which Mischief Meant Most Harm Shall In The Happy Trial Prove Most Glory.

Truth Is Compared In Scripture To A Streaming Fountain; If Her Waters Flow Not In Perpetual Progression, They Sicken Into A Muddy Pool Of Conformity And Tradition.

New Presbyter Is But Old Priest Writ Large.

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.

Thus Belial, With Words Clothed In Reason's Garb, Counseled Ignoble Ease, And Peaceful Sloth, Not Peace.

Heaven, The Seat Of Bliss, Brooks Not The Works Of Violence And War.

Come To The Sunset Tree! The Day Is Past And Gone; The Woodman's Axe Lies Free, And The Reaper's Work Is Done.

Anon Out Of The Earth A Fabric Huge Rose, Like An Exhalation.

Hail, Wedded Love, Mysterious Law; True Source Of Human Happiness.

(that Last Infirmity Of Noble Mind) To Scorn Delights, And Live Laborious Days; But The Fair Guerdon When We Hope To Find, And Think To Burst Out Into Sudden Blaze, Comes The Blind Fury With Th' Abhorred Shears And Slits The Thin-spun Life.

Now The Bright Morning-star, Day's Harbinger, Comes Dancing From The East.

Sometime Let Gorgeous Tragedy In Sceptred Pall Come Sweeping By, Presenting Thebes, Or Pelops' Line, Or The Tale Of Troy Divine.

To Be Weak Is Miserable, Doing Or Suffering.

As Therefore The State Of Man Now Is, What Wisdom Can There Be To Choose, What Continence To Forbear, Without The Knowledge Of Good And Evil?

O Dark, Dark, Dark, Amid The Blaze Of Noon, Irrecoverably Dark, Total Eclipse Without All Hope Of Day!

Fairy Damsels Met In Forest Wide / By Knights Of Logres, Or Of Lyones, / Lancelot Or Pelleas, Or Pellenore.

Or Bid The Soul Of Orpheus Sing Such Notes As, Warbled To The String, Drew Iron Tears Down Pluto's Cheek.

Can Any Mortal Mixture Of Earth's Mould Breathe Such Divine Enchanting Ravishment?

Angels Contented With Their Face In Heaven, Seek Not The Praise Of Men.

In Argument With Men A Woman Ever Goes By The Worse, Whatever Be Her Cause.

Hear All Ye Angels, Progeny Of Light, Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers.

Wealth And Honours, Which Most Men Pursue, Easily Change Masters; They Desert To The Side Which Excels In Virtue, Industry, And Endurance Of Toil, And They Abandon The Slothful.

Gratitude Bestows Reverence.....changing Forever How We Experience Life And The World.

What Neat Repast Shall Feast Us, Light And Choice, Of Attic Taste?

Freely They Stood Who Stood, And Fell Who Fell.

For Liberty Hath A Sharp And Double Edge, Fit Only To Be Handled By Just And Virtuous Men; To Bad And Dissolute, It Becomes A Mischief Unwieldy In Their Own Hands.

In Contemplation Of Created Things, By Steps We May Ascend To God.

And Grace That Won Who Saw To Wish Her Stay.

Sweet Bird That Shunn'st The Nose Of Folly, Most Musical, Most Melancholy! Thee, Chauntress, Oft, The Woods Among, I Woo, To Hear Thy Even-song.

Morn, Wak'd By The Circling Hours, With Rosy Hand Unbarr'd The Gates Of Light.

The Teachers Of Our Law, And To Propose What Might Improve My Knowledge Or Their Own.

And, Re-assembling Our Afflicted Powers, Consult How We May Henceforth Most Offend.

A Beardless Cynic Is The Shame Of Nature.

Justice Divine Mends Not Her Slowest Pace For Prayers Or Cries.

That Practis'd Falsehood Under Saintly Shew, Deep Malice To Conceal, Couch'd With Revenge.

But Infinite In Pardon Is My Judge.

Swinish Gluttony Never Looks To Heaven Amidst Its Gorgeous Feast; But With Besotted, Base Ingratitude, Cravens And Blasphemes His Feeder.

And That Must End Us, That Must Be Our Cure: To Be No More. Sad Cure! For Who Would Lose, Though Full Of Pain, This Intellectual Being, Those Thoughts That Wander Through Eternity, To Perish, Rather, Swallowed Up And Lost In The Wide Womb Of Uncreated Night Devoid Of Sense And Motion?

Hail Universal Lord, Be Bounteous Still To Give Us Only Good; And If The Night Have Gathered Aught Of Evil Or Concealed, Disperse It, As Now Light Dispels The Dark.

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.

Our Torments Also May In Length Of Time Become Our Elements, These Piercing Fires As Soft As Now Severe, Our Temper Changed Into Their Temper.

Most Men Admire Virtue Who Follow Not Her Lore.

Day And Night, Seed-time And Harvest, Heat And Hoary Frost Shall Hold Their Course, Till Fire Purge All Things New.

Such Sober Certainty Of Waking Bliss.

And Pomp, And Feast, And Revelry, With Mask, And Antique Pageantry, Such Sights As Youthful Poets Dream On Summer Eves By Haunted Stream. Then To The Well-trod Stage Anon, If Jonson's Learned Sock Be On, Or Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child, Warble His Native Wood-notes Wild, And Ever, Against Eating Cares, Lap Me In Soft Lydian Airs, Married To Immortal Verse Such As The Meeting Soul May Pierce, In Notes With Many A Winding Bout Of Linked Sweetness Long Drawn Out.

Time Is The Subtle Thief Of Youth.

Awake, Arise Or Be For Ever Fall’n.

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.

But Peaceful Was The Night Wherein The Prince Of Light His Reign Of Peace Upon The Earth Began.

Ask For This Great Deliverer Now, And Find Him Eyeless In Gaza At The Mill With Slaves.

Ah, Why Should All Mankind For One Man's Fault, Be Condemned, If Guiltless?

God Is Decreeing To Begin Some Newand Great Period In His Church, Even To The Reforming Of Reformation Itself. What Does He Then But Reveal Himself To His Servants, And As His Manner Is, First To His Englishmen?

The Strongest And The Fiercest Spirit That Fought In Heaven, Now Fiercer By Despair.

So On This Windy Sea Of Land, The Fiend Walked Up And Down Alone Bent On His Prey.

Time, Though In Eternity, Applied To Motion, Measures All Things Durable By Present, Past, And Future.

Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

And As An Ev'ning Dragon Came, Assailant On The Perched Roosts And Nests In Order Rang'd Of Tame Villatic Fowl.

And Pomp, And Feast, And Revelry, With Mask, And Antique Pageantry, Such Sights As Youthful Poets Dream On Summer Eves By Haunted Stream.

Such As The Meeting Soul May Pierce, In Notes With Many A Winding Bout Of Linked Sweetness Long Drawn Out.

Though All The Winds Of Doctrine Were Let Loose To Play Upon The Earth, So Truth Be In The Field, We Do Injuriously By Licensing And Prohibiting To Misdoubt Her Strength. Let Her And Falsehood Grapple; Who Ever Knew Truth Put To The Worse, In A Free And Open Encounter.

Boast Not Of What Thou Would'st Have Done, But Do.

Nothing Is Here For Tears, Nothing To Wail Or Knock The Breast, No Weakness, No Contempt, Dispraise, Or Blame,-nothing But Well And Fair, And What May Quiet Us In A Death So Noble.

Opinion In Good Men Is But Knowledge In The Making.

Daughter To That Good Earl, Once President Of England's Council, And Her Treasury, Who Lived In Both, Unstained With Gold Or Fee, And Left Them Both, More In Himself Content, Till Sad The Breaking Of That Parliament Broke Him, As That Dishonest Victory At Chaeronea, Fatal To Liberty, Killed With Report That Old Man Eloquent. Though Later Born Than To Have Known The Days Wherein Your Father Flourished, Yet By You, Madam, Methinks I See Him Living Yet; So Well Your Words His Noble Virtues Praise, That All Both Judge You To Relate Them True, And To Possess Them, Honoured Margaret.

Truth Is As Impossible To Be Soiled By Any Outward Touch As The Sunbeam.

I Fled, And Cry'd Out, Death; Hell Trembled At The Hideous Name, And Sigh'd From All Her Caves, And Back Resounded, Death.

Believe And Be Confirmed.

Seas Wept From Our Deep Sorrows.

Him That Yon Soars On Golden Wing, Guiding The Fiery-wheelèd Throne, The Cherub Contemplation.

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.

My Mansion Is, Where Those Immortal Shapes Of Bright Aerial Spirits Live Insphered In Regions Mild Of Calm And Serene Air, Above The Smoke And Stir Of This Dim Spot Which Men Call Earth.

To-morrow To Fresh Woods, And Pastures New.

Long Is The Way And Hard, That Out Of Hell Leads Up To Light.

There Are No Songs Comparable To The Songs Of Zion, No Orations Equal To Those Of The Prophets, And No Politics Like Those Which The Scriptures Teach.

Sole Reigning Holds The Tyranny Of Heav'n.

Paradise Lost Book 1

Thou O Spirit, That Dost Prefer Before All Temples Th' Upright Heart And Pure, Instruct Me, For Thou Know'st; Thou From The First Wast Present, And With Mighty Wings Outspread Dove-like Satst Brooding On The Vast Abyss And Mad'st It Pregnant: What Is In Me Dark Illumine, What Is Low Raise And Support; That To The Heighth Of This Great Argument I May Assert Eternal Providence, And Justify The Ways Of God To Men.

To Be Blind Is Not Miserable; Not To Be Able To Bear Blindness, That Is Miserable.

Farewell Hope, And With Hope Farewell Fear

Paradise Lost Book 9

Mutual Love, The Crown Of All Our Bliss.

He That Has Light Within His Own Clear Breast May Sit In The Centre, And Enjoy Bright Day: But He That Hides A Dark Soul And Foul Thoughts Benighted Walks Under The Mid-day Sun; Himself His Own Dungeon.

The Starry Cope Of Heaven.

Courtesy Which Oft Is Found In Lowly Sheds, With Smoky Rafters, Than In Tapestry Halls And Courts Of Princes, Where It First Was Named.

Earth Felt The Wound; And Nature From Her Seat, Sighing Through All Her Works, Gave Signs Of Woe That All Was Lost.

Of Four Infernal Rivers That Disgorge/ Into The Burning Lake Their Baleful Streams;/abhorred Styx The Flood Of Deadly Hate,/sad Acheron Of Sorrow, Black And Deep;/cocytus, Nam'd Of Lamentation Loud/ Heard On The Rueful Stream; Fierce Phlegethon/ Whose Waves Of Torrent Fire Inflame With Rage./ Far Off From These A Slow And Silent Stream,/ Lethe The River Of Oblivion Rolls/ Her Wat'ry Labyrinth Whereof Who Drinks,/ Forthwith His Former State And Being Forgets,/ Forgets Both Joy And Grief, Pleasure And Pain.

For No Falsehood Can Endure Touch Of Celestial Temper.

What Boots It At One Gate To Make Defence, And At Another To Let In The Foe?

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.

Calm Of Mind, All Passion Spent.

Live While Ye May, Yet Happy Pair.

Some Say No Evil Thing That Walks By Night, In Fog Or Fire, By Lake Or Moorish Fen, Blue Meagre Hag, Or Stubborn Unlaid Ghost That Breaks His Magic Chains At Curfew Time, No Goblin, Or Swart Fairy Of The Mine, Hath Hurtful Power O'er True Virginity.

Enjoy Your Dear Wit And Gay Rhetoric, That Hath So Well Been Taught Her Dazzling Fence.

God Has Set Labor And Rest, As Day And Night To Men Successive.

They Who Have Put Out The People's Eyes Reproach Them Of Their Blindness.

No Institution Which Does Not Continually Test Its Ideals, Techniques And Measure Of Accomplishment Can Claim Real Vitality.

Joking Decides Great Things, Stronger And Better Oft Than Earnest Can.

Those Whom Reason Hath Equalled, Force Hath Made Supreme

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.

Oh, Shame To Men! Devil With Devil Damn'd Firm Concord Holds, Men Only Disagree Of Creatures Rational.

Dark With Excessive Bright.

I Must Not Quarrel With The Will Of Highest Dispensation, Which Herein, Haply Had Ends Above My Reach To Know.

Hence, Loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus And Blackest Midnight Born, In Stygian Cave Forlorn, 'mongst Horrid Shapes, And Shrieks, And Sights Unholy.

In Physic, Things Of Melancholic Hue And Quality Are Used Against Melancholy, Sour Against Sour, Salt To Remove Salt Humors.

With Diadem And Sceptre High Advanced, The Lower Still I Fall; Only Supreme In Misery; Such Joy Ambition Finds.

Of Calling Shapes, And Beck'ning Shadows Dire, And Airy Tongues That Syllable Men's Names.

Wickedness Is Weakness.

I Will Not Allow My Daughters To Learn Foreign Languages Because One Tongue Is Sufficient For A Woman.

Our Cure, To Be No More; Sad Cure!

Ah Gentle Pair, Ye Little Think How Nigh Your Change Approaches, When All These Delights Will Vanish And Deliver Ye To Woe, More Woe, The More Your Taste Is Now Of Joy.

If The Will, Which In The Law Of Our Nature, Were Withdrawn From Our Memory, Fancy, Understanding, And Reason, No Other Hell Could Equal, For A Spiritual Being, What We Should Then Feel From The Anarchy Of Our Powers. It Would Be Conscious Madness,--a Horrid Thought!

Meadows Trim With Daisies Pied, Shallow Brooks And Rivers Wide Towers And Battlements It Sees Bosom'd High In Tufted Trees, Where Perhaps Some Beauty Lies, The Cynosure Of Neighboring Eyes.

One Sip Of This Will Bathe The Drooping Spirits In Delight, Beyond The Bliss Of Dreams.

Assuredly We Bring Not Innocence Not The World, We Bring Impurity Much Rather: That Which Purifies Us Is Trial, And Trial Is By What Is Contrary.

For Solomon, He Lived At Ease, And Full Of Honour, Wealth, High Fare, Aimed Not Beyond Higher Design Than To Enjoy His State.

No War Or Battle Sound Was Heard The World Around.

In Those Vernal Seasons Of The Year When The Air Is Calm And Pleasant, It Were An Injury And Sullenness Against Nature Not To Go Out And See Her Riches, And Partake In Her Rejoicing With Heaven And Earth.

Trending Author

Jessica Simpson

Hesketh Pearson

Category