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Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.

— John Milton Il Penseroso (1631)

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More quotes by John Milton

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

On His Having Arrived at the Age of Twenty-three (1631)

A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.

The Reason of Church Government (1641)

The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.

Paradise Lost (1667)

He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem.

Apology for Smectymnuus (1642)

Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.

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