John Milton

Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.

Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul
And lap it in Elysium.

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul
And lap it in Elysium.

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The read more

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing,
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

Who would not, finding way, break loose from hell,
. . . .
And boldly venture to read more

Who would not, finding way, break loose from hell,
. . . .
And boldly venture to whatever place
Farthest from pain?

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

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