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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
Life
Rising
Warm
Move
Bosom
Moving
Bosoms
Desire
Cheek
Light
Bloom
Young
Purple
Love
Cheeks
More quotes by Thomas Gray
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Thomas Gray
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.
Thomas Gray
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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We frolic while 'tis May.
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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.
Thomas Gray
From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.
Thomas Gray
Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Thomas Gray
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Thomas Gray
Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader browner shade Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think.
Thomas Gray
To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
Thomas Gray
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.
Thomas Gray
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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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
Thomas Gray
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold.
Thomas Gray
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?
Thomas Gray
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Thomas Gray