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More from John Milton

13. O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still.
15. Where the bright seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow.
12. The lazy leaden-stepping Hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace.
16. A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
11. Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof.
17. By labor and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave …
10. Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
18. He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem.

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