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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

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
Soul
Repress
Chill
Gray
Current
Currents
Rage
Penury
Noble
Genial
Poverty
Froze

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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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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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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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Ah, tell them they are men!
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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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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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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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The time will come, when thou shalt lift thine eyes To watch a long-drawn battle in the skies. While aged peasants, too amazed for words, Stare at the flying fleets of wondrous birds.
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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.
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When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
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We frolic while 'tis May.
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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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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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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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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 And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began, Alike the busy and the gay, But flutter through life's little day.
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To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
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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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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
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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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