John Milton June: Poor, poor, pitiful me.

Satan is a little black raincloud, hovering over the honey tree.


Thus with the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of ev’n or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer’s rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;


But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank
Of Nature’s works to me expunged and razed,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.

(John Milton. Paradise Lost. Book II, 40-50.)

cf.: Faust. Don’t you think?

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