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John Milton
(Born 9th December 1608-8th November 1674)
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'The
mind in its own place and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.- Paradise Lost
'What if earth Be but the shadow of heaven and things therein,
Each to other like, more than on earth is thought?' - Paradist Lost
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John Milton
was an English Poet and a political writer. He was one of the three children, born in this
father's shop in Bread Street in London. His father was an amateur Musician and a
Composer. John Milton attended St. Paul's School and then Christ's college at Cambridge
University. His colleagues nicknamed him 'Lady of Christ' for his feminine face and precise
conduct. However, Milton was not deterred with any remarks and while at Cambridge wrote
poems and prepared himself for a religious career, dedicating himself to God's service as
a poet.
In 1632,
after graduating, Milton went to his countryplace where he wrote his two major pieces
'Comus' and 'Masque' which was dramatic presentation with music. Later, Milton supported
Puritan cause through a series of political writings and gradually with the sweeping
change in political scenario, Milton turned away from poetry for a brief period to work on
behalf of Parliament and common wealth through his prose.
Milton
married 16 year old Mary Powell in 1643 but their marriage was unhappy. His work and
constant study strained his weak eyes and he was completely blind by 1652. About his
blindness, he wrote a sonnet 'How my light is spent' in 1655. John Milton wrote his
masterpieces 'The Paradise Lost', 'Paradise Regained' and 'samson Agonistes' during his
final years, composed first two works after he was totally blind. In 'Paradise Lost', John
Milton justifies the ways of God to man. It retells the story of Bible and creation and
the fall of Adam and Eve against the backdrop of Satan's rebellion against God and
expulsion from heaven. Milton studied classical greek and latin authors and was, greatly
influenced by them. He died on 8th November 1608 due to gout and was buried with his
father in St. Giles, Cripplegate, London.
Emily Dickinson's Profile here
SONG ON MAY MORNING
Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East,
and leads with her The Flowry May,
who from her green lap throws The yellow Cowslip, and the pale
Primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire Mirth and youth,
and warm desire, Woods and
Groves, are of thy dressing, Hill and Dale,
doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcom thee, and wish thee long.
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ON THE MORNING OF
CHRIST’S NATIVITY (Compos’d 1629)
1
THIS is the Month, and this the happy morn Wherin the Son of Heav’ns
eternal King, Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born, Our great
redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did
sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father
work us a perpetual peace.
2
That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, And that far-beaming
blaze of Majesty, Wherwith he wont at Heav’ns high Councel-Table, To
sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside; and here with us to
be,
Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day, And chose with us a darksom
House of mortal Clay.
3
Say Heav’nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the
Infant God? Hast thou no vers, no hymn, or solemn strein, To welcom
him to this his new abode, Now while the Heav’n by the Suns team
untrod, Hath took no print of the approching light, And all the
spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?
4
See how from far upon the Eastern rode The Star-led Wisards haste
with odours sweet, O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay
it lowly at his blessed feet; Have thou the honour first, thy Lord
to greet, And joyn thy voice unto the Angel Quire, From out his
secret Altar toucht with hallow’d fire.
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John Milton
ON TIME
Fly envious Time, till thou run out
thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose
speed is but the heavy Plummets pace; And glut thy self with
what thy womb devours, Which is no more then what is false
and vain, And meerly mortal dross; So little is our loss, So
little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb’d, And last of
all, thy greedy self consum’d, Then long Eternity shall
greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And Joy shall
overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely
good And perfectly divine, With Truth, and Peace, and Love
shall ever shine About the supreme Throne
Of him, t’ whose happy-making sight alone, When once our
heav’nly-guided soul shall clime, Then all this Earthy
grosnes quit, Attir’d with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time. |
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More Poems Here
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