Quote

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

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Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Eyes
Ruins
Scatter
Nations
Lists
Threats
Eye
Command
Applause
Read
Plenty
Smiling
Pain
Historical
Ruin
History
Threat
Despise
Nation
Senate
Land
List
Ning

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In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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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.
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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.
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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
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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 Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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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?
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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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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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
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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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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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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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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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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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