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In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.

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
Grief
Tyrant
Move
Pleasing
Pain
Measures
Moving
Breast
Tyrants
Pale
Breasts
Horror
Throbbing

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We frolic while 'tis May.
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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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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
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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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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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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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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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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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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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T'was Spring, t'was Summer, all was gay Now Autumn bears a cloud brow The flowers of Spring are swept way And Summer fruits desert the bough
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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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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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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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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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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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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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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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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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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