Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so… — John Milton Copy Share Image
Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things… — John Milton Copy Share Image
What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies. — John Milton Copy Share Image
Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps… — John Milton Copy Share Image
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate to hearse when Lycid lies. — John Milton Copy Share Image
It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies. — John Milton Copy Share Image
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet,… — John Milton Copy Share Image
The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can… — John Milton Copy Share Image
Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done. — John Milton Copy Share Image
And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. — John Milton Copy Share Image
What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the… — John Milton Copy Share Image
And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. — John Milton Copy Share Image
And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, consult how we may henceforth most offend. — John Milton Copy Share Image
Yet hold it more humane, more heav'nly, first, By winning words to conquer willing hearts, And make persuasion do the work of fear. — John Milton Copy Share Image
O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost… — John Milton Copy Share Image
The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome, still paying, still to owe; Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that… — John Milton Copy Share Image
Knowledge forbidden? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that? Can it be sin to know, Can it be death? And do they… — John Milton Copy Share Image
These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs… — John Milton Copy Share Image
And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained? — John Milton Copy Share Image
