John Milton

He's gone, and who knows how may he report
Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?

He's gone, and who knows how may he report
Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?

Anon, out of the earth a fabric huge
Rose, like an exhalation.

Anon, out of the earth a fabric huge
Rose, like an exhalation.

Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.

Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.

A crown
Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns,
Bring dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless read more

A crown
Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns,
Bring dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights
To him who wears the regal diadem.

There swift return
Diurnal, merely to officiate light
Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.

There swift return
Diurnal, merely to officiate light
Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.