Thus with the year

Seasons return; but not to me returns

Day, or the sweet approach of even 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 expung'd and raz'd,

And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book iii. Line 40.

Hope, of all ills that men endure,

The only cheap and universal cure.

Abraham Cowley (1618-1667): The Mistress. For Hope.

Religion blushing, veils her sacred fires,

And unawares Morality expires.

Nor public flame nor private dares to shine;

Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine!

Lo! thy dread empire Chaos is restor'd,

Light dies before thy uncreating word;

Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall,

And universal darkness buries all.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Dunciad. Book iv. Line 649.

All nature is but art, unknown to thee;

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;

All discord, harmony not understood;

All partial evil, universal good;

And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,

One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Essay on Man. Epistle i. Line 289.

All Nature wears one universal grin.

Henry Fielding (1707-1754): Tom Thumb the Great. Act i. Sc. 1.

Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,

Uproar the universal peace, confound

All unity on earth.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 3.