Leaves on his path whatever seems too mean
To raise the subject, or adorn the scene;
Gives, as each page improves upon the sight
Not smoke from brightness, but from darkness light;
And truth and fiction with such art confounds,
We know not where to fix their several bounds.
“There is more of poetry,” says Moore, “in these verses upon Milton than in any other passage throughout the paraphrase.” And more truth than poetry at that, one might justly add.
The subject is not exhausted, but enough has been produced to show that, in an eminent sense, Milton is a poets’ poet. I bespeak for my favorite among all the bards of all time a joyous and grateful observance of his annual day from every loyal Chautauquan.