Poems Written By John Milton: John Milton was a profound English Poet in the 17th century. He was a journalist, Historian, and a renowned Poet. “Paradise Lost” and “Paradise Regained” are some of the most famous works of John Milton. The poetry of John Milton explores the themes of religion, social problems, and human nature. His heritage as a poet and a social worker is appreciated by readers even now. Milton played a vital role in the field of English literature.
Also Read: Short Pomes in Hindi
1-Poems Written By John Milton: Paradise Lost
Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heav’nly Muse, that on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the Beginning how the heav’ns and earth
Rose out of Chaos: Or if Sion Hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flow’d
Fast by the Oracle of God; I thence
Invoke thy aid to my advent’rous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th’ Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things are unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
Explanation :
(Due to the length, providing a full poem is quite difficult. So there is the extract from the opening paragraph). The poem “ Paradise Lost” is termed as the greatest piece of work in English Literature History. The shows the story of the downfall of human beings, satan’s rebellion against God, and the removal of Adam and Eve from Paradise. the poem contains 12 books and an unrhymed scheme. The poem shows Adam and Eve as good and Satan as evil, the poet shows the contrast and co-existing of both beautifully.
Did John Milton also write in Italian?
Yes JOhn Milton has 6 sonnets in Italian.
2- Lycidas
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forced fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear
Compels me to disturb your season due;
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Who would not sing for Lycidas? He knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Begin, then, Sisters of the sacred well,
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse.
So may some gentle Muse
With lucky words favour my destined urn,
And, as he passes, turn
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.
For we were nursed upon the self-same hill,
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared
Under the opening eyelids of the Morn,
We drove a-field, and both together heard
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright
Toward heaven’s descent had sloped his westering wheel.
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,
Tempered to the oaten flute;
Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long,
And old Damoetas loved to hear our song.
But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone, and never must return!
Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves,
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o’ergrown,
And all their echoes, mourn.
The willows, and the hazel copses green,
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rose,
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd’s ear.
Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep
Closed o’er the head of your loved Lycidas?
For neither were ye playing on the steep,
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.
Ay me, I fondly dream!
Had ye been there, for what could that have done?
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament,
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Alas! what boots it with uncessant care
To tend the homely, slighted shepherd’s trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neaera’s hair?
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th’ abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life. ‘But not the praise,’
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears:
‘Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil
Set off to th’ world, nor in broad rumour lies,
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.’
O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,
That strain I heard was of a higher mood.
But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune’s plea.
He asked the waves, and asked the incarcerated winds,
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
And questioned every gust of rugged wings
That blows from off each beakèd promontory.
They knew not of his story,
And sage Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed.
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in th’ eclipse, and rigged with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine
Explanation :
The poem “Lycidas” is a melancholic poem by John Milton. The poem revolves around the theme of loss and remembering. The poet wrote in memory of John Milton’s friend Edward King who lost his life by drowning in the sea. The poem is kind of a tribute to his friend who lost his life. The theme of the poem explores the themes of mortality, loss, and the transient nature of life. The poem also refers to classic Christian mythology which adds weight to the poem.
How many sonnets John Milton wrote?
John Milton wrote a total of 24 sonnets.
3-Poems Written By John Milton: On His Blindness
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best, his State
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”
Explanation :
The poem “On His Blindness” is a lament by John Milton. At the start of the poem the poet tells readers that he has lost his eyesight and now cannot use his light to serve god to the fullest. The poet thinks now that he cannot see god does not want him and that he is useless but then god indirectly tells him that god does not want labor and service but only true faithfulness towards him.
4- Comus
Thyrsis, whose artful strains have oft delayed
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,
And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale.
How cam’st thou here, good swain? Hath any ram
Slipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam,
Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook?
How could’st thou find this dark sequestered nook
Explanation :
The poem “Comus” is a narrative poem. The poem shows the story of a young lady who is separated from her brothers in the forests and encounters Comus, the son of Bacchus, who represents desire and impulse. The theme of the poem is temptation, virtue, and desire. The poem is famous for its lyrical and musical rhymes.
How many poems did John Milton write?
John Milton published his 1645 Poems.
5-Poems Written By John Milton: On His Deceased Wife
Methought I saw my late espousèd Saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove’s great Son to her glad Husband gave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heav’n without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
So clear as in no face with more delight.
But, O as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
Explanation :
The poem “On His Deceased Wife” is a sonnet by John Milton. The poet tells the readers a dream in which he sees his late wife as a pure and virtuous lady rescued from the grave and brought back to him. The poem shows the poet’s grief and sense of loss of his wife, when the poet sees his wife in the dream he wants to praise her but she disappears. The theme of the poem explores grief, memory, and the loving bond between the poet and his wife.
Who wrote the Life of Milton?
Life of Milton has been written by Samuel Johnson.
6- L’Allegro
Hence, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born
In Stygian cave forlorn,
‘Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy!
Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;
There under ebon shades and low-browed rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In Heaven yclept Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic Wind that breathes the Spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew,
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity,
Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And, singing, startle the dull Night,
From his watchtower in the skies,
Till the dappled Dawn doth rise;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweetbriar or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before.
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Robed in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o’er the furrowed land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale,
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
While the landscape round it measures;
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set
Of herbs and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead,
To the tannèd haycock in the mead.
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequered shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the livelong daylight fail;
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinched and pulled, she said,
And he by friar’s lantern led;
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubber-fiend,
And, stretched out all the chimney’s length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And, crop-full, out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp and feast and revelry,
With mask and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson’s learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony;
That Orpheus’ self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heapèd Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto to have quite set free
His half-regained Eurydice.
These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
Explanation :
“L’Allegro” is a celebration of mirth and cheerfulness, exploring the contrasting pleasures of a lively, active life. The poem is structured as a conversation between two allegorical figures, Melancholy and Mirth. The speaker rejects the gloom of Melancholy and instead invites Mirth to accompany him. The poem vividly describes scenes of countryside and rural life, capturing the beauty of nature and the joyous activities that accompany it. The verses depict various activities, such as dancing, singing, and storytelling, as well as the delights of nature, from meadows and rivers to towers and battlements.
In which year did John Milton go blind?
In 1652 John Milton went blind.
7- On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity
This is the month, and this the happy morn
Wherein the Son of Heav’n’s eternal King,
Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable
And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty,
Wherewith he wont at Heav’n’s high council-table
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside, and here with us to be,
Forsook the courts of everlasting day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
Say heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant God?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain
To welcome Him to this His new abode,
Now while the heaven by the sun’s team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approaching light,
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright.
See how from far upon the eastern road
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet!
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at His blessed feet;
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,
And join thy voice unto the angels’ quire,
From out His secret altar touched with hallowed fire.
Explanation :
“On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity” is a hymn that reflects on the significance of the birth of Jesus Christ. The poem begins by setting the scene on the morning of Christ’s nativity, depicting it as a happy and momentous occasion. It emphasizes the divine nature of Jesus as the Son of Heaven’s eternal King, born of a wedded Maid and Virgin Mother. Milton explores the idea of Christ leaving the heavenly realms, where he sat amid the Trinal Unity, to come to Earth and bring redemption. The poem reflects on the sacrifice of the glorious form and divine majesty that Christ laid aside to be born in mortal clay, choosing a humble human existence.
Is John Milton a Renaissance poet?
John Milton, was the last great poet of the English Renaissance.
8- At a Solemn Music
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven’s joy,
Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce,
And to our high-raised phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne
To Him that sits thereon,
With saintly shout and solemn jubilee;
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms
Singing everlastingly.
That we on earth, with undiscording voice,
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportioned sin
Jarr’d against nature’s chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway’d
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we soon again renew that song,
And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long
To His celestial consort us unite,
To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light!
Explanation :
“At a Solemn Music” is a hymn-like poem that praises the harmonious union of voice and verse, celebrating the power of music to elevate the soul. The poem begins by addressing the “Blest pair of Sirens,” which refers to the harmonious Sisters—Voice and Verse. These celestial beings are described as “Sphere-born,” suggesting their divine origin. The poem envisions a scene where music can present an “undisturbed song of pure consent” to the divine throne, where the angels and heavenly beings join in a celestial chorus.
What is the most famous John Milton poem?
Milton is best known for Paradise Lost.
9- Sonnet VII: How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near;
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu’th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Task-Master’s eye.
Explanation :
In “Sonnet VII,” John Milton contemplates the swift passage of time and acknowledges the theft of his youth by Time, which he describes as a “subtle thief.” The sonnet opens with a reflection on how quickly Time has advanced, stealing away his twenty-third year. Milton laments that despite the rapid progression of his days, he sees no signs of blossoming or fruition in his “late spring.”
What is the first poem written by John Milton?
“On Shakespeare” was the first poem written by John Milton.
There are some of the best Poems Written By John Milton with explanations in English. Stay tuned for more poetry and updates.