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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.

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
Creeps
Shall
Mortality
Race
Sober
Eye
Contemplation
Ends
Alike
Littles
Gay
Little
Began
Flutter
Men
Creep
Life
Busy

More quotes by Thomas Gray

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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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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
Thomas Gray
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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.
Thomas Gray
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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
Thomas Gray
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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.
Thomas Gray
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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.
Thomas Gray
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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.
Thomas Gray
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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
Thomas Gray
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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.
Thomas Gray
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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
Thomas Gray
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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
Thomas Gray
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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
Thomas Gray
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The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
Thomas Gray
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
Thomas Gray
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Thomas Gray
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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.
Thomas Gray
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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
Thomas Gray
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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.
Thomas Gray
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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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To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
Thomas Gray