Quote #52
Have hung My dank and dropping weeds To the stern god of sea.
More from John Milton
- What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
- Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.
- License they mean when they cry, Liberty! For who loves that must first be wise and good.
- By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrive…
- That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
- This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heav'n's eternal King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great rede…
- That old man eloquent.
- It was the winter wild While the Heav'n-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.