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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

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
Annals
Grandeur
Simplicity
Smile
Short
Hear
Poor
Simple
Disdainful

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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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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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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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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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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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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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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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Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow.
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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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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To contemplation's sober eye, Such is the race of man And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began, Alike the busy and the gay, But flutter through life's little day.
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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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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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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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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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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
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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.
Thomas Gray
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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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