John Milton

Yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible.

Yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible.

Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair.

Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair.

This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,
Of read more

This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's 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.

The Pilot of the Galilean Lake.

The Pilot of the Galilean Lake.

Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd
Into read more

Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd
Into some bruitish form of wolf or bear,
Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,
All other parts remaining as they were;
And they, so perfect in their misery,
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement.