Quote #94
When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves.
More from John Milton
- Where more is meant than meets the ear.
- Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such cons…
- Or call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold.
- And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In servi…
- But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as warbled to the string, …
- Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
- Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.
- 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…