John Milton - Paradise Lost (1667)

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The serpent subtlest beast of all the field.

John Milton
For now I see
Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

John Milton
For contemplation he and valour formed,
For softness she and sweet attractive grace,
He for God only, she for God in him.

John Milton
Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life,
The middle tree and highest there that grew,
Sat like a cormorant.

John Milton
Implied
Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway,
And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,
Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,
And sweet reluctant amorous delay.

John Milton
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.

John Milton
So saying, with dispatchful looks in haste She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent.

John Milton
That practis'd falsehood under saintly shew, Deep malice to conceal, couch'd with revenge.

John Milton
Chaos umpire sits And by decision more embroils the fray by which he reigns: next him high arbiter Chance governs all.

John Milton
And when night
Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

John Milton
Arm th' obdur'd breast With stubborn patience as with triple steel.

John Milton
To be weak is miserable,
Doing or suffering.

John Milton
Unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years damp my intended wing.

John Milton
Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

John Milton
With thee conversing I forget all time,
All seasons, and their change; all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds.

John Milton
Who overcomes
By force, hath overcome but half his foe.

John Milton
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night.

John Milton
Anon they move
In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood Of flutes and soft recorders.

John Milton
What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.

John Milton
Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.

John Milton
Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep...

John Milton
Morn,
Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.

John Milton
As one who long in populous city pent,
Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms
Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight.

John Milton
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all.

John Milton
And through the palpable obscure find out
His uncouth way.

John Milton
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.

John Milton
With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.

John Milton
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.

John Milton
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.

John Milton
…What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?

John Milton