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

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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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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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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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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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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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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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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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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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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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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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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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Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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