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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.

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
Young
Purple
Love
Cheeks
Life
Rising
Warm
Move
Bosom
Moving
Bosoms
Desire
Cheek
Light
Bloom

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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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Ah, tell them they are men!
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The different steps and degrees of education may be compared to the artificer's operations upon marble it is one thing to dig it out of the quarry, and another to square it, to give it gloss and lustre, call forth every beautiful spot and vein, shape it into a column, or animate it into a statue.
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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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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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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
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T'was Spring, t'was Summer, all was gay Now Autumn bears a cloud brow The flowers of Spring are swept way And Summer fruits desert the bough
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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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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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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly rising o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.
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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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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.
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The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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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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