Language
John Milton
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
He who seeking asses found a kingdom.
But on occasion’s forelock watchful wait.
A paradise within thee, happier far.
Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy
Oft-times nothing profits more
Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Evil, be thou my good.
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,
Chaos umpire sits,
Incensed with indignation Satan stood
Black it stood as night,
Pandemonium, the high capital
Mammon led them on,
Let none admire
Who overcomes
A shout that tore hell’s concave, and beyond
First Moloch, horrid king besmeared with blood
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
