The Poetical Works of John Milton


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Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd,  
Inferiour to the vilest now become  
Of man or worm; the vilest here excel me,  
They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos'd  
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong,  
Within doors, or without, still as a fool,  
In power of others, never in my own;  
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more then half.  
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,  
Irrecoverably dark, total Eclipse  
80  
Without all hope of day!  
O first created Beam, and thou great Word,  
Let there be light, and light was over all;  
Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree?  
The Sun to me is dark  
And silent as the Moon,  
When she deserts the night  
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.  
Since light so necessary is to life,  
90  
And almost life itself, if it be true  
That light is in the Soul,  
She all in every part; why was the sight  
To such a tender ball as th' eye confin'd?  
So obvious and so easie to be quench't,  
And not as feeling through all parts diffus'd,  
That she might look at will through every pore?  
717  


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1 198 395 593 790