My self, my Sepulcher, a moving Grave,
Buried, yet not exempt
By privilege of death and burial
From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs,
But made hereby obnoxious more
To all the miseries of life,
Life in captivity
Among inhuman foes.
But who are these? for with joint pace I hear
The tread of many feet stearing this way;
Perhaps my enemies who come to stare
At my affliction, and perhaps to insult,
Thir daily practice to afflict me more.
"Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees." - T.J. "Stonewall" Jackson
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Samson
Vivid excerpt from John Milton's Samson Agonistes.
Labels:
The Bookshelf
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