martedì 19 agosto 2008

Paradise Lost_IV

“So saying, his proud step he scornful turned,
But with sly circumspection, and began
Through wood, through waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, his roam.
Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where heav’n
With earth and ocean meets, the setting sun
Slowly descended, and with right aspéct
Agtinst the eastern gate of Paradise
Levelled his ev’ning rays. It was a rock
Of alabaster, piled up to the clouds,
Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent
Accessible from earth, one entrance high;
The rest was craggy cliff, that overhung
Still as it rose, impossible to climb.”
(John Milton, Paradise Lost IV, 536-548)

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