John Milton

With grave

Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed

A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven

Deliberation sat and public care;

And princely counsel in his face yet shone,

Majestic though in ruin: sage he stood,

With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear

The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look

Drew audience and attention still as night

Or summer's noontide air.

Execute their airy purposes.

Farewell happy fields,

Where joy forever dwells: hail, horrors!

My sentence is for open War; Of Wiles,

More unexpert, I boast not: them let those

Contrive who need, or when they need, not now.

For while they sit contriving, shall the rest,

Millions that stand in Arms, and longing wait

The Signal to ascend, sit ling'ring here,

Heav'n's fugitives, and for their dwelling place

Accept this dark opprobrious Den of shame,

The Prison of his Tyranny who Reigns

By our delay? no, let us rather choose,

Arm'd with Hell flames and fury all at once

O'er Heaven's high Tow'rs to force resistless way,

Turning our Tortures into horrid Arms

Against the Torturer.

Anon out of the earth a fabric huge

Rose, like an exhalation.

And, when night

Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons

Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.

As far as angels' ken.

The never-ending flight

Of future days.

What in me is dark

Illumine, what is low raise and support;

That to the height of this great argument

I may assert eternal Providence,

And justify the ways of God to men.

To sit in darkness here

Hatching vain empires.

Who overcomes

By force, hath overcome but half his foe.