Eve to Adam

From “Paradise Lost,” Book XII. WITH sorrow and heart’s distress Wearied, I fell asleep. But now lead on; In me is no delay; with thee to go, Is to stay here; without thee here to stay, Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me Art all things under heaven, all places thou, Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. This further consolation, yet secure, I carry hence; though all by me is lost, Such favor I unworthy am vouchsafed, By me the promised Seed shall all restore.

Collection: 
English
1628
John Milton
Sub Title: 
V. Selections from “Paradise Lost”

More from Poet

  • To the Lord-General Cromwell

    Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud, Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crownèd fortune proud Hast reared God’s trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with...

  • Battle of the Angels

    From “Paradise Lost,” Book VI. THE ARRAY NOW went forth the morn, Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold Empyreal; from before her vanished night, Shot through with orient beams; when all the plain Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright, Chariots, and flaming arms...

  • Adam and Eve

    From “Paradise Lost,” Book IV. TWO of far nobler shape, erect and tall, Godlike erect, with native honor clad In naked majesty, seemed lords of all: And worthy seemed; for in their looks divine The image of their glorious Maker shone, Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure, (Severe, but in...

  • An Epitaph on the Admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shakespeare

    What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones, The labor of an age in pilèd stones? Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built...

  • Il Penseroso

    Hence, vain deluding joys, The brood of Folly without father bred! How little you bestead, Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams,— Or likest hovering...