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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.
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
Care
Alas
Littles
Parenting
Today
Victims
Little
Regardless
Come
Gray
Play
Victim
Ills
Children
Beyond
Parental
Sense
Doom
More quotes by Thomas Gray
Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
Thomas Gray
And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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.
Thomas Gray
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow.
Thomas Gray
To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
Thomas Gray
We frolic while 'tis May.
Thomas Gray
To each his suff'rings all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan,- The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more where ignorance is bliss, 'T is folly to be wise.
Thomas Gray
Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
Thomas Gray
The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
Thomas Gray
Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Thomas Gray
One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
Thomas Gray
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold.
Thomas Gray
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Thomas Gray
To each his suff'rings: all are men, / Condemn'd alike to groan, / The tender for another's pain / Th' unfeeling for his own.
Thomas Gray
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
Thomas Gray
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?
Thomas Gray
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Thomas Gray
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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.
Thomas Gray
As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
Thomas Gray