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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.

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
Leaves
Tolls
Darkness
Herd
Wind
Herds
Way
Parting
World
Winds
Ploughman
Weary
Homeward
Gray
Knell
Slowly
Curfew

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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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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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Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
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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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When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.
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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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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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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
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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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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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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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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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