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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.

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
Cool
Ignoble
Along
Stray
Learning
Strife
Learn
Sober
Sequester
Wish
Wishes
Noiseless
Way
Crowd
Vale
Never
Crowds
Tenor
Life
Kept
Tenors

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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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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.
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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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The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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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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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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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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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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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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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.
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Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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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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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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