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The Sun To Me Is Dark And Silent As The Moon, When She Deserts The Night Hid In Her Vacant Interlunar Cave.

-John Milton

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The Sun To Me

John Milton

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The Sun To Me Is Dark And Silent As The Moon, When She Deserts The Night Hid In Her Vacant Interlunar Cave.

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It Is Chastity, My Brother. She That Has That Is Clad In Complete Steel.

The Superior Man Acquaints Himself With Many Sayings Of Antiquity And Many Deeds Of The Past, In Order To Strengthen His Character Thereby.

They Are The Troublers, They Are The Dividers Of Unity, Who Neglect And Don't Permit Others To Unite Those Dissevered Pieces Which Are Yet Wanting To The Body Of Truth.

Immediate Are The Acts Of God, More Swift Than Time Or Motion.

Hope Allows Us To Bid Farewell To Fear.

Be Strong, Live Happy And Love, But First Of All Him Whom To Love Is To Obey, And Keep His Great Command!

How Sweetly Did They Float Upon The Wings Of Silence Through The Empty-vaulted Night, At Every Fall Smoothing The Raven Down Of Darkness Till It Smiled!

Good, The More Communicated, More Abundant Grows.

Incens'd With Indignation Satan Stood Unterrify'd, And Like A Comet Burn'd That Fires The Length Of Ophiuchus Huge In Th' Arctic Sky, And From His Horrid Hair Shakes Pestilence And War.

Moping Melancholy And Moon-struck Madness.

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.

Faithful Found Among The Faithless.

Just Deeds Are The Best Answer To Injurious Words.

With Ruin Upon Ruin, Rout On Rout, Confusion Worse Confounded.

Let Us Go Forth And Resolutely Dare With Sweat Of Brow To Toil Our Little Day.

And, When Night Darkens The Streets, Then Wander Forth The Sons Of Belial, Flown With Insolence And Wine.

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

The Pious And Just Honoring Of Ourselves May Be Thought The Fountainhead From Whence Every Laudable And Worthy Enterprise Issues Forth.

The Best Apology Against False Accusers Is Silence.

A Poet Soaring In The High Reason Of His Fancies, With His Garland And Singing Robes About Him.

Death To Life Is Crown Or Shame.

Oft, On A Plat Of Rising Ground, I Hear The Far-off Curfew Sound Over Some Wide-watered Shore, Swinging Low With Sullen Roar.

God Is Thy Law, Thou Mine: To Know No More Is Woman's Happiest Knowledge And Her Praise. With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time.

For Spirits When They Please Can Either Sex Assume, Or Both; So Soft And Uncompounded Is Their Essence Pure, Not Tied Or Manacled With Joint Or Limb, Nor Founded On The Brittle Strength Of Bones, Like Cumbrous Flesh; But In What Shape They Choose Dilated Or Condensed, Bright Or Obscure, Can Execute Their Airy Purposes, And Works Of Love Or Enmity Fulfil.

Among The Writers Of All Ages, Some Deserve Fame, And Have It; Others Neither Have Nor Deserve It; Some Have It, Not Deserving It; Others, Though Deserving It, Yet Totally Miss It, Or Have It Not Equal To Their Deserts.

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

Peace Hath Her Victories, No Less Renowned Than War.

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

Me Miserable! Which Way Shall I Fly Infinite Wrath And Infinite Despair? Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell; And In The Lowest Deep A Lower Deep, Still Threat'ning To Devour Me, Opens Wide, To Which The Hell I Suffer Seems A Heaven.

Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

I Call A Complete And Generous Education That Which Fits A Man To Perform Justly, Skillfully, And Magnanimously All The Offices, Both Private And Public, Of Peace And War.

Say, Heavenly Pow'rs, Where Shall We Find Such Love? Which Of Ye Will Be Mortal To Redeem Man's Mortal Crime, And Just Th' Unjust To Save.

O Execrable Son! So To Aspire Above His Brethren, To Himself Assuming Authority Usurped, From God Not Given. He Gave Us Only Over Beast, Fish, Fowl, Dominion Absolute; That Right We Hold By His Donation; But Man Over Men He Made Not Lord; Such Title To Himself Reserving, Human Left From Human Free.

What In Me Is Dark Illumine, What Is Low Raise And Support, That To The Height Of This Great Argument I May Assert Eternal Providence, And Justify The Ways Of God To Men. 1 Paradise Lost. Book I. Line 22.

Meanwhile The Adversary Of God And Man, Satan With Thoughts Inflamed Of Highest Design, Puts On Swift Wings, And Towards The Gates Of Hell Explores His Solitary Flight.

For To Interpose A Little Ease, Let Our Frail Thoughts Dally With False Surmise.

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.

In Dim Eclipse, Disastrous Twilight Sheds On Half The Nations, And With Fear Of Change Perplexes Monarchs.

Our Country Is Where Ever We Are Well Off.

A Good Principle Not Rightly Understood May Prove As Hurtful As A Bad.

And So Sepúlchred In Such Pomp Dost Lie, That Kings For Such A Tomb Would Wish To Die.

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

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

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.

The First And Wisest Of Them All Professed To Know This Only, That He Nothing Knew.

The Saviour Who Flitted Before The Patriarchs Through The Fog Of The Old Dispensation, And Who Spake In Time Past To The Fathers By The Prophets, Articulate But Unseen, Is The Same Saviour Who, On The Open Heights Of The Gospel, And In The Abundant Daylight Of This New Testament, Speaks To Us. Still All Along It Is The Same Jesus, And That Bible Is From Beginning To End All Of It, The Word Of Christ.

Abashed The Devil Stood And Felt How Awful Goodness Is And Saw Virtue In Her Shape How Lovely: And Pined His Loss

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

Only This I Know, That One Celestial Father Gives To All.

Spirits When They Please Can Either Sex Assume, Or Both.

He Who Destroys A Good Book Kills Reason Itself.

These Eyes, Tho' Clear To Outward View Of Blemish Or Of Spot, Bereft Of Light, Their Seeing Have Forgot, Nor To Their Idle Orbs Doth Sight Appear Of Sun, Or Moon, Or Star, Throughout The Year, Or Man, Or Woman. Yet I Argue Not Against Heaven's Hand Or Will, Not Bate A Jot Of Heart Or Hope; But Still Bear Up And Steer Right Onward.

. . . For Beauty Stands In The Admiration Only Of Weak Minds Led Captive. Cease To Admire, And All Her Plumes Fall Flat And Shrink Into A Trivial Toy, At Every Sudden Slighting Quite Abash'd.

Nothing Profits More Than Self-esteem, Grounded On What Is Just And Right.

The Stars, That Nature Hung In Heaven, And Filled Their Lamps With Everlasting Oil, Give Due Light To The Misled And Lonely Traveller.

Impostor; Do Not Charge Most Innocent Nature, As If She Would Her Children Should Be Riotous With Her Abundance; She, Good Cateress, Means Her Provision Only To The Good, That Live According To Her Sober Laws, And Holy Dictate Of Spare Temperance.

There Swift Return Diurnal, Merely To Officiate Light Round This Opacous Earth, This Punctual Spot.

Who Shall Silence All The Airs And Madrigals That Whisper Softness In Chambers?

Sport, That Wrinkled Care Derides, And Laughter Holding Both His Sides. Come And Trip It As Ye Go, On The Light Fantastic Toe.

Hail Holy Light, Offspring Of Heav'n Firstborn!

By This Time, Like One Who Had Set Out On His Way By Night, And Travelled Through A Region Of Smooth Or Idle Dreams, Our History Now Arrives On The Confines, Where Daylight And Truth Meet Us With A Clear Dawn, Representing To Our View, Though At A Far Distance, True Colours And Shapes.

Good Luck Befriend Thee, Son; For At Thy Birth The Fairy Ladies Danced Upon The Hearth.

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.

Confusion Heard His Voice, And Wild Uproar Stood Ruled, Stood Vast Infinitude Confined; Till At His Second Bidding Darkness Fled, Light Shone, And Order From Disorder Sprung.

In Naked Beauty More Adorn'd, More Lovely Than Pandora.

Hail, Holy Light! Offspring Of Heaven Firstborn! Or Of Th' Eternal Co-eternal Beam, May I Express Thee Unblam'd? Since God Is Light And Never But In Unapproached Light Dwelt From Eternity, Dwelt Then In Thee, Bright Effluence Of Bright Essence Increate!

If All The World Should In A Pet Of Temp'rance, Feed On Pulse, Drink The Clear Stream, And Nothing Wear But Frieze, Th' All-giver Would Be Unthank'd, Would Be Unprais'd.

My Sentence Is For Open War.

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

A Broad And Ample Road, Whose Dust Is Gold, And Pavement Stars,--as Stars To Thee Appear Seen In The Galaxy, That Milky Way Which Nightly As A Circling Zone Thou Seest Powder'd With Stars.

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

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

The Helmed Cherubim, And Sworded Seraphim, Are Seen In Glittering Ranks With Wings Display'd.

Bacchus, That First From Out The Purple Grape Crush'd The Sweet Poison Of Misused Wine.

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

Virtue Hath No Tongue To Check Vice's Pride.

Money Brings Honor, Friends, Conquest, And Realms.

Calm Of Mind, All Passion Spent.

So Spake The Seraph Abdiel, Faithful Found; Among The Faithless, Faithful Only He.

Wild Above Rule Or Art, Enormous Bliss.

The Rising World Of Waters Dark And Deep.

Haste Thee, Nymph, And Bring With Thee Jest, And Youthful Jollity, Quips, And Cranks, And Wanton Wiles, Nods, And Becks, And Wreathed Smiles, Such As Hang On Hebe's Cheek, And Love To Live In Dimple Sleek; Sport That Wrinkled Care Derides, And Laughter Holding Both His Sides.

God Made Thee Perfect, Not Immutable.

I Was All Ear, And Took In Strains That Might Create A Soul Under The Ribs Of Death.

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.

(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.

On The Tawny Sands And Shelves Trip The Pert Fairies And The Dapper Elves.

The Never-ending Flight Of Future Days.

But Oh! As To Embrace Me She Inclin'd, I Wak'd, She Fled, And Day Brought Back My Night.

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

If This Fail, The Pillar'd Firmament Is Rottenness, And Earth's Base Built On Stubble.

Mutual Love, The Crown Of All Our Bliss.

Virtue That Wavers Is Not Virtue.

Come And Trip It As Ye Go On The Light Fantastic Toe.

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

Our Reason Is Our Law.

Midnight Brought On The Dusky Hour Friendliest To Sleep And Silence.

From Morn To Noon He Fell, From Noon To Dewy Eve,- A Summer's Day; And With The Setting Sun Dropp'd From The Zenith Like A Falling Star.

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

The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her Sad Song Mourneth Well.

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

Beholding The Bright Countenance Of Truth In The Quiet And Still Air Of Delightful Studies.

Ease Would Recant Vows Made In Pain, As Violent And Void.

Servant Of God, Well Done! Well Hast Thou Fought The Better Fight, Who Single Hast Maintain'd Against Revolted Multitudes The Cause Of Truth.

Let Us Descend Now Therefore From This Top Of Speculation.

God Sure Esteems The Growth And Completing Of One Virtuous Person, More That The Restraint Of Ten Vicious.

Freely We Serve, Because Freely We Love.

Heav'nly Love Shall Outdoo Hellish Hate

Give Me The Liberty To Know, To Utter, And To Argue Freely According To Conscience, Above All Liberties.

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?

Native Language

Accuse Not Nature: She Hath Done Her Part; Do Thou But Thine.

Which, If Not Victory, Is Yet Revenge.

It Was That Fatal And Perfidious Bark, Built In Th' Eclipse, And Rigg'd With Curses Dark.

Thus With The Year Seasons Return; But Not To Me Returns Day, Or The Sweet Approach Of Even Or Morn, Or Sight Of Vernal Bloom Or Summer's Rose, Or Flocks, Or Herds, Or Human Face Divine; But Cloud Instead, And Ever-during Dark Surrounds Me; From The Cheerful Ways Of Men Cut Off, And For The Book Of Knowledge Fair Presented With A Universal Blank Of Nature's Works, To Me Expung'd And Raz'd, And Wisdom At One Entrance Quite Shut Out.

Live While Ye May, Yet Happy Pair.

We Shall Sooner Have The Fowl By Hatching The Egg Than By Smashing It. Abraham Lincoln, White House Speech 11 April 1865. Or Arm Th' Obdured Breast With Stubborn Patience As With Triple Steel.

Our Torments Also May In Length Of Time Become Our Elements.

No Mighty Trance, Or Breathed Spell Inspires The Pale-eyed Priest From The Prophetic Cell.

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

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.

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-morrow To Fresh Woods, And Pastures New.

Retiring From The Popular Noise, I Seek This Unfrequented Place To Find Some Ease.

Seas Wept From Our Deep Sorrows.

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.

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.

Confidence Imparts A Wonderful Inspiration To The Possessor.

What Wisdom Can There Be To Choose, What Continence To Forbear Without The Knowledge Of Evil? He That Can Apprehend And Consider Vice With All Her Baits And Seeming Pleasures, And Yet Abstain, And Yet Distinguish, And Yet Prefer That Which Is Truly Better, He Is The True Wayfaring Christian.

Is It Just Or Reasonable, That Most Voices Against The Main End Of Government Should Enslave The Less Number That Would Be Free? More Just It Is, Doubtless, If It Come To Force, That A Less Number Compel A Greater To Retain, Which Can Be No Wrong To Them, Their Liberty, Than That A Greater Number, For The Pleasure Of Their Baseness, Compel A Less Most Injuriously To Be Their Fellow-slaves. They Who Seek Nothing But Their Own Just Liberty, Have Always Right To Win It And To Keep It, Whenever They Have Power, Be The Voices Never So Numerous That Oppose It.

If By Prayer Incessant I Could Hope To Change The Will Of Him Who All Things Can, I Would Not Cease To Weary Him With My Assiduous Cries; But Prayer Against His Absolute Decree No More Avails Than Breath Against The Wind Blown Stifling Back On Him That Breathes It Forth: Therefore To His Great Bidding I Submit.

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

Blind Mouths! That Scarce Themselves Know How To Hold A Sheep-hook.

Who Overcomes By Force, Hath Overcome But Half His Foe.

Sabrina Fair, Listen Where Thou Art Sitting Under The Glassy, Cool, Translucent Wave, In Twisted Braids Of Lilies Knitting The Loose Train Of Thy Amber-dropping Hair.

O Impotence Of Mind, In Body Strong! But What Is Strength Without A Double Share Of Wisdom, Vast, Unwieldy, Burdensome, Proudly Secure, Yet Liable To Fall By Weakest Subtleties, Not Made To Rule, But To Subserve Where Wisdom Bears Command.

No Date Prefixed Directs Me In The Starry Rubric Set.

Just Are The Ways Of God, And Justifiable To Men; Unless There Be Who Think Not God At All.

Nor From Hell One Step No More Than From Himself Can Fly By Change Of Place.

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.

Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining.

It Is Lawful And Hath Been Held So Through All Ages For Any One Who Have The Power To Call To Account A Tyrant Or Wicked King, And After Due Conviction To Depose And Put Him To Death.

Freely They Stood Who Stood, And Fell Who Fell.

And Some Are Fall'n, To Disobedience Fall'n, And So From Heav'n To Deepest Hell; O Fall From What High State Of Bliss Into What Woe!

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.

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

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

I Did But Prompt The Age To Quit Their Clogs By The Known Rules Of Ancient Liberty, When Straight A Barbarous Noise Environs Me Of Owls And Cuckoos, Asses, Apes And Dogs.

When We Speak Of Knowing God, It Must Be Understood With Reference To Man's Limited Powers Of Comprehension. God, As He Really Is, Is Far Beyond Man's Imagination, Let Alone Understanding. God Has Revealed Only So Much Of Himself As Our Minds Can Conceive And The Weakness Of Our Nature Can Bear.

Equally Inured By Moderation Either State To Bear, Prosperous Or Adverse.

The Pilot Of The Galilean Lake; Two Massy Keys He Bore, Of Metals Twain (the Golden Opes, The Iron Shuts Amain).

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!

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.

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

Wisdom's Self Oft Seeks To Sweet Retired Solitude, Where With Her Best Nurse Contemplation, She Plumes Her Feathers, And Lets Grow Her Wings That In The Various Bustle Of Resort Were All To-ruffled, And Sometimes Impaired.

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?

Smiles From Reason Flow, To Brute Deny'd, And Are Of Love The Food.

The World Was All Before Them, Where To Choose Their Place Of Rest, And Providence Their Guide: They Hand In Hand, With Wandering Steps And Slow, Through Eden Took Their Solitary Way.

These Are Thy Glorious Works, Parent Of Good!

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.

And If By Prayer Incessant I Could Hope To Change The Will Of Him Who All Things Can, I Would Not Cease To Weary Him With My Assiduous Cries.

Or Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child!

But Let My Due Feet Never Fail To Walk The Studious Cloisters Pale, And Love The High Embowed Roof, With Antique Pillars Massy Proof, And Storied Windows Richly Dight; Casting A Dim Religious Light.

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.

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.

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.

The Leaf Was Darkish, And Had Prickles On It, But In Another Country, As He Said, Bore A Bright Golden Flow'r, But Not In This Soil; Unknown, And Like Esteem'd, And The Dull Swain Treads On It Daily With His Clouted Shoon.

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.

I Will Not Deny But That The Best Apology Against False Accusers Is Silence And Sufferance, And Honest Deeds Set Against Dishonest Words.

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.

And Grace That Won Who Saw To Wish Her Stay.

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

Not To Know Me Argues Yourselves Unknown.

Paradise Lost Book 9

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.

Solitude Is Sometimes Best Society.

Yet Some There Be That By Due Steps Aspire To Lay Their Just Hands On That Golden Key That Opes The Palace Of Eternity.

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

Fame Is The Last Infirmity Of The Human Mind.

Fear Of Change Perplexes Monarchs.

Methinks I See In My Mind A Noble And Puissant Nation Rousing Herself Like A Strong Man After Sleep, And Shaking Her Invincible Locks; Methinks I See Her As An Eagle Mewing Her Mighty Youth, And Kindling Her Undazzled Eyes At The Full Midday Beam.

Nor Aught Availed Him Now To Have Built In Heaven High Towers; Nor Did He Scrape By All His Engines, But Was Headlong Sent With His Industrious Crew To Build In Hell.

Who Reads Incessantly, And To His Reading Brings Not A Spirit And Judgment Equal Or Superior, (and What He Brings What Need He Elsewhere Seek?) Uncertain And Unsettled Still Remains, Deep Versed In Books And Shallow In Himself, Crude Or Intoxicate, Collecting Toys And Trifles For Choice Matters, Worth A Sponge, As Children Gathering Pebbles On The Shore.

Education Of Youth Is Not A Bow For Every Man To Shoot In That Counts Himself A Teacher; But Will Require Sinews Almost Equal To Those Which Homer Gave To Ulysses.

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

The Timely Dew Of Sleep Now Falling With Soft Slumb'rous Weight Inclines Our Eyelids.

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.

O Fairest Of Creation, Last And Best Of All God's Works, Creature In Whom Excelled Whatever Can To Sight Or Thought Be Formed, Holy, Divine, Good, Amiable, Or Sweet! How Art Thou Lost, How On A Sudden Lost, Defaced, Deflow'red, And Now To Death Devote? Paradise Lost

The Spirits Perverse With Easy Intercourse Pass To And Fro, To Tempt Or Punish Mortals.

The Mind Is Its Own Place, And In Itself, Can Make Heaven Of Hell, And A Hell Of Heaven.

Nor Turned I Ween Adam From His Fair Spouse, Nor Eve The Rites Mysterious Of Connubial Love Refused: Whatever Hypocrites Austerely Talk Of Purity And Place And Innocence, Defaming As Impure What God Declares Pure, And Commands To Some, Leaves Free To All.

Cyriack, Whose Grandsire On The Royal Bench Of British Themis, With No Mean Applause Pronounced And In His Volumes Taught Our Laws, Which Others At Their Bar So Often Wrench

From Haunted Spring And Dale Edg'd With Poplar Pale The Parting Genius Is With Sighing Sent.

So Scented The Grim Feature, And Upturn'd His Nostril Wide Into The Murky Air, Sagacious Of His Quarry From So Far.

Execute Their Airy Purposes.

Fame Is The Spur That The Clear Spirit Doth Raise

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

Solitude Sometimes Is Best Society.

With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time.

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.

Bid Amaranthus All His Beauty Shed, And Daffodillies Fill Their Cups With Tears, To Strew The Laureate To Hearse When Lycid Lies.

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

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