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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

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
Live
Tombs
Fires
Cries
Ashes
Cry
Fire
Voice
Wonted
Nature
Tomb

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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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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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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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Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
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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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We frolic while 'tis May.
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Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
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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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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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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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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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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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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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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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The different steps and degrees of education may be compared to the artificer's operations upon marble it is one thing to dig it out of the quarry, and another to square it, to give it gloss and lustre, call forth every beautiful spot and vein, shape it into a column, or animate it into a statue.
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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