Now The Bright Morning-star, Day's Harbinger, Comes

So Satan, Whom Repulse Upon Repulse Met Ever, And To Shameful Silence Brought, Yet Gives Not O'er Though Desperate Of Success.

But Now My Task Is Smoothly Done, I Can Fly, Or I Can Run Quickly To The Green Earth's End, Where The Bow'd Welkin Slow Doth Bend, And From Thence Can Soar As Soon To The Corners Of The Moon.

The Timely Dew Of Sleep Now Falling With Soft Slumb'rous Weight Inclines Our Eyelids.

Heav'nly Love Shall Outdoo Hellish Hate

Heaven Is For Thee Too High To Know What Passes There; Be Lowly Wise. Think Only What Concerns Thee And Thy Being; Dream Not Of Other Worlds, What Creatures There Live, In What State, Condition, Or Degree, Contented That Thus Far Hath Been Revealed.