A Quote by John Milton

But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return! — © John Milton
But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
I know thou art gone to the home of thy rest-- Then why should my soul be so sad? I know thou art gone where the weary are blest, And the mourner looks up, and is glad; I know thou hast drank of the Lethe that flows In a land where they do not forget, That sheds over memory only repose, And takes from it only regret.
Either all things proceed from one intelligent source and come together as in one body, and the part ought not to find fault with what is done for the benefit of the whole; or there are only atoms, and nothing else than a mixture and dispersion. Why, then, art thou disturbed? Say to this ruling faculty, Art thou dead, art thou corrupted, art thou playing the hypocrite, art thou become a beast, dost thou herd and feed with the rest?
O delicious kiss, Why thou so sudden art gone? Lost in the moment thou art won?
Within ten days thou wilt seem a god to those to whom thou art now a beast and an ape, if thou wilt return to thy principles and the worship of reason.
Thou must be emptied of that wherewith thou art full, that thou mayest be filled with that whereof thou art empty.
Study what thou art Whereof thou art a part What thou knowest of this art This is really what thou art. All that is without thee also is within.
If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.
Thou art in the end what thou art. Put on wigs with millions of curls, set thy foot upon ell-high rocks. Thou abidest ever--what thou art.
Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, Or what is worse, be left by it? Why dost thou load thyself when thou 'rt to fly, Oh, man! ordain'd to die? Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Thou who art under ground to lie? Thou sow'st and plantest, but no fruit must see, For death, alas! is reaping thee.
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Tis no extravagant arithmetic to say, that for every ten jokes, thou hast got an hundred enemies; and till thou hast gone on, and raised a swarm of wasps about thine ears, and art half stung to death by them, thou wilt never be convinced it is so.
Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.
Oh, thou did'st then ne'er love so heartily. If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run inot, Thou has not loved. Of if thou has't not sat as I do now, Wearying they hearer in thy mistress's praise, Thou has not loved. Of if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou has not loved. (Silvius)
Whoe'er thou art, thy Lord and master see, Thou wast my Slave, thou art, or thou shalt be.
Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.
There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou - Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed.
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