For heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of hell
Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I, 27-28
In the deep tract of hell the story starts,
Amid the sulphrous fumes,
The acid smoke belching from the earth,
By the seething lava pools.
Scattered across the hard basalt
Lie broken angelic legions,
Wings crushed, feathers scattered,
White plumage turned to black by sin
And the ashes of their darkly burning world
That form the clouds above, broken still
By a thousand falling angels from above.
Having read Paradise Lost for the first time, I was utterly entranced by the work. Written in non-rhyming English heroic verse, Milton’s use of sound and utterly electric images captivated me – there is not a work I could recommend more highly. There were numerous words and phrases I was itching to use, and the result of such urges will manifest here over the coming weeks. I hope to reflect a vague shadow of the original masterpiece.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic