Maxioms by John Milton
For never can true reconcilement grow,
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
For never can true reconcilement grow,
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
Luck is the residue of design.
Luck is the residue of design.
Some cursed fraud
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruined.
Some cursed fraud
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruined.
And the gilded car of day,
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream.
And the gilded car of day,
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream.
Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair.
Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair.
