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

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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 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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Ah, tell them they are men!
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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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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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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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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To each his suff'rings all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan,- The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more where ignorance is bliss, 'T is folly to be wise.
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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We frolic while 'tis May.
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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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When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
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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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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
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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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Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
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