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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421409" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On The Death Of A Fair Infant Dying Of A Cough</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,<br>Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,<br>Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted<br>Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;<br>For he being amorous on that lovely die<br>That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss<br>But kill'd alas, and then bewayl'd his fatal bliss.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For since grim Aquilo his charioter<br>By boistrous rape th' Athenian damsel got,<br>He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer,  <br>If likewise he some fair one wedded not,<br>Thereby to wipe away th' infamous blot,<br>Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,<br>Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr,<br>Through middle empire of the freezing aire<br>He wanderd long, till thee he spy'd from farr,<br>There ended was his quest, there ceast his care<br>Down he descended from his Snow-soft chaire,<br>But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace  <br>Unhous'd thy Virgin Soul from her fair hiding place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;<br>For so Apollo, with unweeting hand<br>Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate<br>Young Hyacinth born on Eurotas' strand,<br>Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;<br>But then transform'd him to a purple flower<br>Alack that so to change thee winter had no power.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead<br>Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe,  <br>Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed,<br>Hid from the world in a low delved tombe;<br>Could Heav'n for pittie thee so strictly doom?<br>O no! for something in thy face did shine<br>Above mortalitie that shew'd thou wast divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Resolve me then oh Soul most surely blest<br>(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)<br>Tell me bright Spirit where e're thou hoverest<br>Whether above that high first-moving Spheare<br>Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)  <br>Oh say me true if thou wert mortal wight<br>And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wert thou some Starr which from the ruin'd roofe<br>Of shak't Olympus by mischance didst fall;<br>Which carefull Jove in natures true behoofe<br>Took up, and in fit place did reinstall?<br>Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall<br>Of sheenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled<br>Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or wert thou that just Maid who once before  <br>Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth<br>And cam'st again to visit us once more?<br>Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth!<br>Or that c[r]own'd Matron sage white-robed Truth?<br>Or any other of that heav'nly brood<br>Let down in clowdie throne to do the world some good.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Note: 53 Or wert thou] Or wert thou Mercy -- conjectured by<br>John Heskin Ch. Ch. Oxon. from Ode on Nativity, st. 15.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or wert thou of the golden-winged boast,<br>Who having clad thy self in humane weed,<br>To earth from thy praefixed seat didst poast,<br>And after short abode flie back with speed,  <br>As if to shew what creatures Heav'n doth breed,<br>Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire<br>To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But oh why didst thou not stay here below<br>To bless us with thy heav'n-lov'd innocence,<br>To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe<br>To turn Swift-rushing black perdition hence,<br>Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence,<br>To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart<br>But thou canst best perform that office where thou art. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then thou the mother of so sweet a child<br>Her false imagin'd loss cease to lament,<br>And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;<br>Think what a present thou to God hast sent,<br>And render him with patience what he lent;<br>This if thou do he will an off-spring give,<br>That till the worlds last-end shall make thy name to live.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Milton">John Milton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421409" data-title="On The Death Of A Fair Infant Dying Of A Cough de John Milton" data-description="I

O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,
Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
For he being amorous on that lovely die
That did thy cheek enve..."></div>
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