Quote

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

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Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader browner shade Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think.
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
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In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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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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The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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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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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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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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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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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
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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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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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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.
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