John Milton (1608-1674)

On his blindness

 
 
 

When I consider how my light is spent,

a 
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Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

b 
 

And that one talent which is death to hide,

b 
 

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

a 
 5

To serve therewith my maker, and present

a 
 

My true account, lest he returning chide,

b 
 

Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?

b 
 

I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent

a 
 

That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need

c 
 10

Either man's work or his own gifts, who best

d 
 

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best, his state

e 
 

Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

c 
 

And post o'er land and ocean without rest:

d 
 

They also serve who only stand and wait.

e 
 
 

Borrowed from http://alt.venus.co.uk/weed/writings/poems/jmblind.htm (thanks to Weed for posting it), with a tiny correction; marked up by the Sonneteer.

Remarks:

One of the greatest. Tight, taut, measured in the octave; in the sestet, answering it, strong enjambments keep everything moving. The sonnet is a “mild yoke”.

It may be particularly interesting to remember, that among the angelic hierarchies who serve God in Heaven (and this is surely a subject Milton knew as well as any other), the angels who wait in the Lord's presence, perhaps singing songs of praise), are said to be higher ranked (and more highly honored) than those who are sent on His errands. By implication, Milton turns the ego-complicating aspect of the poem entirely on its head: whether it is the greatest kind of humility, or of pride, is hard to say.

 

Presented by the SonneteerWendell Piez, 2003, 2006, 2008, 2016