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John Milton
Quote #97
Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
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And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In servi…
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…
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…
He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves.
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
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…
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