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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.

Thomas Gray

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Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Noiseless
Vale
Kept
Cool
Along
Way
Life
Sequestered

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We frolic while 'tis May.
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.
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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, 'T is folly to be wise.
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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold.
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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
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To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
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Ah, tell them they are men!
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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow.
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
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Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.
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To each his suff'rings: all are men, / Condemn'd alike to groan, / The tender for another's pain / Th' unfeeling for his own.
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