O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost

Among unequals what society Can sort, what harmony, or true delight?

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground.

Pleas'd me, long choosing and beginning late.

The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.

Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.

For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.