John Milton

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

John Milton Poems

41. Sonnet To The Nightingale 1/3/2003
42. On The Lord Gen. Fairfax At The Seige Of Colchester 1/13/2003
43. Sonnet 23 1/13/2003
44. Sonnet 13 1/13/2003
45. From 'Arcades' 1/4/2003
46. Sonnet 22 1/13/2003
47. To The Nightingale 1/3/2003
48. Sonnet 11 1/13/2003
49. Sonnet 18 1/13/2003
50. Sonnet 08 1/13/2003
51. Psalm 08 1/13/2003
52. Paradise Regained: The Second Book 1/13/2003
53. Psalm 84 1/13/2003
54. To Mr. Lawrence 1/3/2003
55. Paradise Regained: The First Book 1/13/2003
56. Sonnet Xviii: On The Late Massacre In Piemont 1/1/2004
57. Sonnet 14 1/13/2003
58. To My Lord Fairfax 1/13/2003
59. Paradise Regained: The Third Book 1/13/2003
60. Sonnet 17 1/13/2003
61. Sonnet 16 1/13/2003
62. To The Lady Margaret Ley 1/3/2003
63. Sonnet 01 1/13/2003
64. Sonnet 10 1/13/2003
65. When The Assault Was Intended To The City 1/3/2003
66. Psalm 01 1/13/2003
67. On The New Forcers Of Conscience Under The Long Parliament 1/3/2003
68. To A Virtuous Young Lady 1/3/2003
69. Sonnet 19 1/13/2003
70. Paradise Lost: Book 06 1/13/2003
71. Psalm 02 1/13/2003
72. Sonnet 12 1/13/2003
73. On The University Carrier 1/3/2003
74. Paradise Regained: The Fourth Book 1/13/2003
75. The Passion 1/3/2003
76. Sonnet 15 1/13/2003
77. Paradise Lost: Book 05 1/13/2003
78. Paradise Lost: Book 12 1/13/2003
79. Paradise Lost: Book 11 1/13/2003
80. An Epitaph On The Marchioness Of Winchester 1/13/2003
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 The Same

Cyriack, this three years’ day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?

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