John Milton

And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.

Where shame is, there is also fear.

Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men; Unless there be who think not God at all.

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.

Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!

Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.

She what was honour knew, And with obsequious majesty approv'd My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower I led her blushing like the morn; all heaven And happy constellations on that hour Shed their selectest influence; the earth Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill; Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs Whisper'd it to the woods, and from their wings Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub.

That power Which erring men call Chance.

Laws can discover sin, but not remove it

Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both.

Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.

His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.

I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of death.

In discourse more sweet; For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute; And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.

Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

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.

Beauty stands In the admiration only of weak minds Led captive.

Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd.

Smiles from reason flow, To brute deny'd, and are of love the food.

So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.