That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
The moving accident is not my trade; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: