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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.

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
Date
Unknown
Adventure
Adventurers
Limits
Adventurer
Littles
Disdain
Little
Bold
Reign
Regions

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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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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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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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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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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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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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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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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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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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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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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
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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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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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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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Chill penury repress'd 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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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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