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

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Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold.
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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
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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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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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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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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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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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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
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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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When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.
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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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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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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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