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John Milton
Quote #99
He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
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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…
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
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…
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 the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
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…
The gadding vine.
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