John Milton

(9 December 1608 – 8 November 1674 / London, England)

John Milton Poems

1. Psalm 81 1/13/2003
2. Psalm 80 1/13/2003
3. Psalm 86 1/13/2003
4. Psalm 87 1/13/2003
5. Psalm 82 1/13/2003
6. Cyriack, Whose Grandsire 5/28/2012
7. Psalm 83 1/13/2003
8. Psalm 88 1/13/2003
9. Sonnet Xxii: To Cyriack Skinner 1/1/2004
10. Psalm 85 1/13/2003
11. The Fifth Ode Of Horace. Lib. I 1/13/2003
12. On The University Carrier Who Sickn'D In The Time Of His Vacancy, Being Forbid To Go To London, By Reason Of The Plague 1/13/2003
13. Psalm 07 1/13/2003
14. Sonnet 03 1/13/2003
15. Psalm 06 1/13/2003
16. Sonnet 06 1/13/2003
17. Sonnet 02 1/13/2003
18. Psalm 03 1/13/2003
19. Sonnet 03: Canzone 1/13/2003
20. Sonnet 09 1/13/2003
21. Sonnet 21 1/13/2003
22. Sonnet 04 1/13/2003
23. Sonnet 05 1/13/2003
24. On The Religious Memory Of Mrs. Catherine Thomson, My Christian Friend, Deceased Dec. 16, 1646 1/3/2003
25. The Hymn 1/3/2003
26. Sonnet 23 1/13/2003
27. To Mr. H. Lawes On His Airs 1/3/2003
28. Psalm 04 1/13/2003
29. Psalm 84 1/13/2003
30. Sonnet X: Daughter To That Good Earl 1/3/2003
31. Psalm Cxxxvi 1/3/2003
32. Sonnet Xx: Lawrence, Of Virtuous Father 1/3/2003
33. Psalm 05 1/13/2003
34. Sonnet 20 1/13/2003
35. To The Lord Generall Cromwell May 1652 1/13/2003
36. Upon The Circumcision 1/3/2003
37. From 'Arcades' 1/4/2003
38. Sonnet 13 1/13/2003
39. To Sir Henry Vane The Younger 1/3/2003
40. To The Nightingale 1/3/2003
Best Poem of John Milton

On His Blindness

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without ...

Read the full of On His Blindness

To My Lord Fairfax

Fairfax, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings,
And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise,
And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze.
And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings,
Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings
Victory home, while new Rebellions raise
Their Hydra-heads, and the false North displays
Her broken League to Imp her Serpent Wings:
O yet! a Nobler task awaits thy Hand,

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