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Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.

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
Rays
Bear
Bears
Unfathomed
Ocean
Gems
Full
Purest
Dark
Serene
Many
Caves
Sweetness

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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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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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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
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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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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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The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
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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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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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The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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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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