Quote #111
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world.
More from John Milton
- Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. …
- Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
- The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Beside…
- For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed; And yet anon repai…
- Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
- He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.
- Last came, and last did go, The Pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
- At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue: Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new.