Tomorrow I head west again, this time for a brief overnight in Vermont before heading to Franconia and the Frost Place Advanced Seminar. When I last arrived at the seminar, close to a decade ago, I was a participant with two small children and a passel of nerves. This time, I will be a visiting faculty member with two teenage boys and a passel of nerves. So strange.

But this time I'll have John Milton to keep me company, and he is more of a comfort than one might think. Just ask Wordsworth.

London, 1802

William Wordsworth

Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:

England hath need of thee: she is a fen

Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,

Have forfeited their ancient English dower

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men:

Oh! raise us up, return to us again;

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,

So didst thou travel on life's common way,

In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart

The lowliest duties on herself did lay.