His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.

Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss

Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.

So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost;Evil,be thou my good.

A short retirement urges a sweet return.

A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.

Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl, When Adam wak'd, so custom'd; for his sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.