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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.

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
Severest
Moody
Amid
Woe
Madness
Wild
Laughter
Laughing

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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?
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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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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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We frolic while 'tis May.
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Ah, tell them they are men!
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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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The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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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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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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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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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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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my 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.
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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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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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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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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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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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