John Milton ( 10 of 239 )
None can love freedom but good men; the rest love not freedom, but license, which never hath more scope than read more
None can love freedom but good men; the rest love not freedom, but license, which never hath more scope than under tyrants.
Adam, well may we labour, still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower.
Adam, well may we labour, still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower.
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep.
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep.
Her rash hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck'd, she eat;
Earth felt read more
Her rash hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck'd, she eat;
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe
That all was lost.
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
So charming left his voice, that he awhile
Thought him read more
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
So charming left his voice, that he awhile
Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.
These false pretexts and varnished colours failing,
Rare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear.
These false pretexts and varnished colours failing,
Rare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear.
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.
In her face excuse
Came prologue, and apology too prompt.
In her face excuse
Came prologue, and apology too prompt.
Thence to the famous orators repair,
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce democratie,
read more
Thence to the famous orators repair,
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce democratie,
Shook the Arsenal, and fulmined over Greece,
To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne.
Or did the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears read more
Or did the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.
