Quote

Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.

Thomas Gray

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Today
Victims
Little
Regardless
Come
Gray
Play
Victim
Ills
Children
Beyond
Parental
Sense
Doom
Care
Alas
Littles
Parenting

More quotes by Thomas Gray

Image
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
Image
When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
Thomas Gray
Image
We frolic while 'tis May.
Thomas Gray
Image
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
Image
Ah, tell them they are men!
Thomas Gray
Image
Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Thomas Gray
Image
Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
Thomas Gray
Image
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
Thomas Gray
Image
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.
Thomas Gray
Image
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Thomas Gray
Image
The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
Thomas Gray
Image
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
Image
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Thomas Gray
Image
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
Image
In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
Thomas Gray
Image
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Thomas Gray
Image
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Thomas Gray
Image
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Thomas Gray
Image
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold.
Thomas Gray
Image
To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
Thomas Gray