 | Poems at Home and Abroad |  |
85
John Milton
1608–1908.
In soft Autumnal sunshine to and fro
I saw a blind man faltering on his way;
His face was delicate pale, his cloak was grey;
He lived, men said, hard by at Bunhill Row.
I gazed and passed, how little could I know
That Milton's verses three hundred years away
With rhythmic thunder-roll would still hold sway,
And his sonorous prose like trumpets blow.
I saw a blind man faltering on his way;
His face was delicate pale, his cloak was grey;
He lived, men said, hard by at Bunhill Row.
I gazed and passed, how little could I know
That Milton's verses three hundred years away
With rhythmic thunder-roll would still hold sway,
And his sonorous prose like trumpets blow.
But this was he whose pen was as a sword
To shake the world and vex the heart of kings,
The man who saw the fading of his dream,
Yet held to the end his high imaginings
For freedom, felt Heaven's light thro' darkness beam
And uncomplaining followed Truth the Lord.
To shake the world and vex the heart of kings,
The man who saw the fading of his dream,
Yet held to the end his high imaginings
For freedom, felt Heaven's light thro' darkness beam
And uncomplaining followed Truth the Lord.
| Poems at Home and Abroad | |