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John Milton
Quote #100
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
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He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
Under the opening eyelids of the morn, We drove afield; and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Batt'ning our…
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with fo…
But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
The gadding vine.
And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In servi…
Alas! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not…
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