“This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.”
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
This is where some of my poetic travels took me today. This fragment comes from the pen of William Wordsworth composed in 1802:
"Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England have need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men:
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowest duties on herself did lay."
And, related in my mind, comes this music from Robert Plant, Alison Krauss and T. Bone Burnette called Killing the Blues. I love the sound of this production:
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