John Milton

So scented the grim Feature, and upturn'd

His nostril wide into the murky air,

Sagacious of his quarry from so far.

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,

In every gesture dignity and love.

To know

That which before us lies in daily life

Is the prime wisdom.

For now I see

Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

Go in thy native innocence, rely

On what thou hast of virtue; summon all!

For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine.

The angel ended, and in Adam's ear

So charming left his voice that he awhile

Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear.

A pillar'd shade

High overarch'd, and echoing walks between.

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop

Into thy mother's lap.

In me is no delay; with thee to go,

Is to stay here; without thee here to stay,

Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me

Art all things under heaven, all places thou,

Who for my willful crime art banished hence.

Thus it shall befall

Him who, to worth in women overtrusting,

Lets her will rule; restraint she will not brook,

And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue,

She first his weak indulgence will accuse.

There swift return

Diurnal, merely to officiate light

Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.

I feel

The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh,

Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state

Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.