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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.
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
Come
Sky
Amazed
Shalt
Long
Bird
Lift
Thine
Time
Battle
Lifts
Wondrous
Watches
Birds
Aged
Watch
Drawn
Skies
Eyes
Staring
Peasants
Eye
Flying
Stare
Words
Thou
Aviation
Fleets
More quotes by Thomas Gray
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.
Thomas Gray
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?
Thomas Gray
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
Thomas Gray
In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
Thomas Gray
Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Thomas Gray
I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
Thomas Gray
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
We frolic while 'tis May.
Thomas Gray
Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
Thomas Gray
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Thomas Gray
Ah, tell them they are men!
Thomas Gray
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Thomas Gray
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Thomas Gray
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?
Thomas Gray
As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
Thomas Gray
And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
Thomas Gray
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Thomas Gray
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.
Thomas Gray
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
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Thomas Gray