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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?

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
Posterity
Asks
May
Ever
Done
Oblige

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Ah, tell them they are men!
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We frolic while 'tis May.
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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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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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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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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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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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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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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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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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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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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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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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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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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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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