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Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forced fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.

— John Milton Lycidas (1637)

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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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Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: John Milton (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.