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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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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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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.
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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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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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Ah, tell them they are men!
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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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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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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 Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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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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For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?
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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
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In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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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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