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12 de mai. de 2024 · Elegy I To Charles Diodati.1. At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come, Charged with thy kindness, to their destin'd home, They come, at length, from Deva's2 Western side, Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide.3. Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be,
Há 2 dias · John Milton 1608 (Cheapside) – 1674 (Chalfont St Giles) Family. Life. Nature. Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, A. Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, B. Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire C. Help waste a sullen day, what may be won A. From the hard season gaining?
22 de mai. de 2024 · On The Engraver Of His Portrait.1. Survey my Features, you will own it clear. That little skill has been exerted here. My Friends, who know me not here smile to see. How ill the model and the work agree. Another Translation of the Same. Look on myself, you will own at once.
7 de mai. de 2024 · When I Consider How My Light Is Spent. When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide. Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent. To serve therewith my Maker, and present. My true account, lest he returning chide;
8 de mai. de 2024 · To The Lord Generall Cromwell May 1652. Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud. Not of warr onely, but detractions rude, Guided by faith & matchless Fortitude. To peace & truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud. Hast reard Gods Trophies, & his work pursu'd,
24 de mai. de 2024 · Anno Aetatis 17. On The Death Of A Fair Infant Dying Of A Cough. I. O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie, Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted. Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie; For he being amorous on that lovely die. That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss.
Há 5 dias · John Milton Poems Quotes Books Biography Comments Images My lids with grief were tumid yet, And still my sullied cheek was wet With briny dews profusely shed For venerable Winton dead,2 When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound Alas! are ever truest found, The news through all our cities spread Of yet another mitred head By ruthless Fate to Death consign'd, Ely, the honour of his kind.
