A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
John MiltonInnumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower.
John MiltonEre the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.
John MiltonBy labor and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die.
John Milton[Rhyme is] but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meter; ... Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of prime note have rejected rhyme, ... as have also long since our best English tragedies, as... trivial and of no true musical delight; which [truly] consists only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoided by the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory.
John Milton