Top 98 Quotes & Sayings by Thomas Gray - Page 2
Explore popular quotes and sayings by an English poet Thomas Gray.
Last updated on November 21, 2024.
And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
Low on his funeral couch he lies!
Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.
From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take.
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?
Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
There are certain scenes that would awe an atheist into belief, without the help of other argument.
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
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.
To each his suff'rings: all are men, / Condemn'd alike to groan, / The tender for another's pain; / Th' unfeeling for his own.
In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
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.
Ah, tell them they are men!
Along the cool sequestered vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
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.
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast.
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.
Sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.
Man's feeble race what ills await!
Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain,
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train,
And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!
Rich with the spoils of time.
To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
Where once my careless childhood strayed, / A stranger yet to pain.
The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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.
England, so long mistress of the sea, Where winds and waves confess her sovereignty, Her ancient triumphs yet on high shall bear And reign the sovereign of the conquered air.
And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.
The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.
The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.
Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
We frolic while 'tis May.
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,
And float amid the liquid noon!
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