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Thought would destroy their paradise.

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
Thinking
Paradise
Destroy
Destruction
Thought
Would

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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
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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.
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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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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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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.
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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
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To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
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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.
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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
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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.
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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
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Ah, tell them they are men!
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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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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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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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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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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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