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Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.

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
Freedom
Goddess
Mind
Flame
Flames
Pursue
Track
Shame
Glory
Rous
Holy
Unconquerable

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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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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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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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When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
Thomas Gray
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Thomas Gray
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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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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
Thomas Gray
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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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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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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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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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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.
Thomas Gray
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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 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.
Thomas Gray