Quote

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

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Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Looks
Casts
Pleasing
Dumb
Prey
Anxiety
Cheerful
Warm
Ring
Behinds
Anxious
Ling
Behind
Cast
Precincts
Left
Rings
Resign
Look
Longing
Forgetfulness

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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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In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
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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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We frolic while 'tis May.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
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Ah, tell them they are men!
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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.
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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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Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.
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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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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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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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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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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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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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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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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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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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