John Milton

Not to know me argues yourselves unknown,

The lowest of your throng.

Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,

If better thou belong not to the dawn.

Innumerable as the stars of night,

Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun

Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear

Touch'd lightly; for no falsehood can endure

Touch of celestial temper.

Hail wedded love, mysterious law, true source

Of human offspring.

Fled

Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night.

So saying, with dispatchful looks in haste

She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent.

Came not all hell broke loose?

Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers.

More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged

To hoarse or mute, though fall'n, and evil tongues;

In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,

And solitude.

Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld

Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,

Shot forth peculiar graces.

Live while ye may,

Yet happy pair.