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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.

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
Tender
Alike
Rings
Suffering
Pain
Another
Unfeeling
Men
Groan
Condemn

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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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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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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
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The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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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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We frolic while 'tis May.
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Ah, tell them they are men!
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Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
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Can storied urn, or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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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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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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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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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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