Quotes from Thomas Gray

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,The plowman homeward plods his weary way,And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breastThe little tyrant of his fields withstood;Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

To each his suff'rings: all are men,Condemn'd alike to groan,The tender for another's pain,Th' unfeeling for his own.Yet ah! why should they know their fate,Since sorrow never comes too late,And happiness too swiftly flies?Thought would destroy their paradise.No more; where ignorance is bliss,'Tis folly to be wise.

Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,While proudly riding o'er the azure realmIn gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes.

Can storied urn, or animated bustBack to its mansion call the fleeting breath?Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust,Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!Confusion on thy banners wait,Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wingThey mock the air with idle state.

What female heart can gold despise?What cat's averse to fish?

But knowledge to their eyes her ample pageRich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,And froze the genial current of the soul.

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune,He had not the method of making a fortune.

For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?

Here rests his head upon the lap of EarthA youth to fortune and to fame unknown.Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,Or busy housewife ply her evening care.

Far from the sun and summer-gale,In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid.

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

The meanest floweret of the vale,The simplest note that swells the gale,The common sun, the air, the skies,To him are opening paradise.

O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom moveThe bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.

Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair.

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vaultThe pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Still as they run they look behind,They hear a voice in every wind,And snatch a fearful joy.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:He gave to mis'ry all he had, a tear,He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

Alas, regardless of their doom,The little victims play!No sense have they of ills to come,Nor care beyond today.