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
Dumb
Prey
Anxiety
Cheerful
Warm
Ring
Behinds
Anxious
Ling
Behind
Cast
Precincts
Left
Rings
Resign
Look
Longing
Forgetfulness
Looks
Casts
Pleasing

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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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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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When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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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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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
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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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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
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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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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 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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Ah, tell them they are men!
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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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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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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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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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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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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