These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their… — John Milton Copy Share Image
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries… — John Milton Copy Share Image
In those vernal seasons of the year when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature… — John Milton Copy Share Image
Unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing. — John Milton Copy Share Image
Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight… — John Milton Copy Share Image
Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight… — John Milton Copy Share Image
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! — 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
