John Milton

Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones,
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones,
Forget not.

But O yet more miserable!
Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.

But O yet more miserable!
Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.

Or stars of morning, dew-drops which the sun
Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

Or stars of morning, dew-drops which the sun
Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

So saying, with despatchful looks in haste
She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent.

So saying, with despatchful looks in haste
She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent.

Thus does the white swan, as he lies on the wet grass, when the
Fates summon him, sing at read more

Thus does the white swan, as he lies on the wet grass, when the
Fates summon him, sing at the fords of Maeander.