Paradise Lost, Book 1, Lines 242-263

Some poetry for this Wednesday before Easter.  Many may be familiar with the end, but perhaps will have forgotten the more memorable lines preceding it.

Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,

Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat

That we must change for Heav’n, this mournful gloom

For that celestial light?  Be it so, since he

Who is now Sovran can dispose and bid

What shall be right: fardest from him is best

Whom reason hath equall’d, force hath made supreme

Above his equals.  Farewell happy Fields

Where Joy forever dwells: Hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell

Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings

A mind not to be chang’d by Place or Time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.

What matter where, if I be still the same,

And what I should be, all but less than hee

Whom Thunder hath made greater?  Here at least

We shall be free; th’Almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:

Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav’n.