John Milton

Hope elevates, and joy

Brightens his crest.

And over them triumphant Death his dart

Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd.

Unless an age too late, or cold

Climate, or years, damp my intended wing.

In her face excuse

Came prologue, and apology too prompt.

I shall temper so

Justice with mercy.

Our state cannot be severed; we are one,

One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.

Among unequals what society

Can sort, what harmony, or true delight?

Ofttimes nothing profits more

Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right

Well managed.

Pleas'd me, long choosing and beginning late.

Some natural tears they dropp'd, but wip'd them soon;

The world was all before them, where to choose

Their place of rest, and Providence their guide:

They hand in hand with wand'ring steps and slow

Through Eden took their solitary way.

Her silent course advance

With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps

On her soft axle.

With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er,

Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb.