John Milton

This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,
Of read more

This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring,
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That He our deadly forfeit should release,
And with His Father work us a perpetual peace.

Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers.

Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers.

Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

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?

The low'ring element
Scowls o'er the darken'd landscape.

The low'ring element
Scowls o'er the darken'd landscape.