The reader always must feel that the planning of each is the work of conscious, deliberate, and selecting art.

Milton never digresses; he never violates harmony of sound or sense; his poems have all their regular movement from quiet beginning through a rising and breaking wave of passion and splendour to quiet close.

His art is nowhere better seen than in his endings.
Is it _Lycidas_?
After the thunder of approaching vengeance on the hireling shepherds of the Church, comes sunset and quiet: "And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills, And now was dropt into the western bay; At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue: To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new." Is it _Paradise Lost_?
After the agonies of expulsion and the flaming sword-- "Some natural tears they drop'd, but wip'd them soon; The world was all before them where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide; They hand in hand with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way." Is it finally _Samson Agonistes_?
"His servants he with new acquist, Of true experience from this great event, With peace and consolation hath dismist, And calm of mind all passion spent." "Calm of mind, all passion spent," it is the essence of Milton's art.
He worked in large ideas and painted splendid canvases; it was necessary for him to invent a style which should be capable of sustained and lofty dignity, which should be ornate enough to maintain the interest of the reader and charm him and at the same time not so ornate as to give an air of meretricious decoration to what was largely and simply conceived.

Particularly it was necessary for him to avoid those incursions of vulgar associations which words carelessly used will bring in their train.

He succeeded brilliantly in this difficult task.