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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.

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
Life
Visits
Drops
Warm
Dear
Eyes
Eye
Light
Heart
Ruddy

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Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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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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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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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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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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The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.
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Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,/ The bee's collected treasure sweet,/ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet/ The still small voice of gratitude.
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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
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To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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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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We frolic while 'tis May.
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Can storied urn, or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
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Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.
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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?
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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