Thomas Gray
Thomas Gray
Thomas Graywas an English poet, letter-writer, classical scholar and professor at Pembroke College, Cambridge University. He is widely known for his Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, published in 1751...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth26 December 1716
may done asks
As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
blow laughing rising
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.
pain childhood innocence
Where once my careless childhood strayed, / A stranger yet to pain.
pain men suffering
To each his suff'rings: all are men, / Condemn'd alike to groan, / The tender for another's pain; / Th' unfeeling for his own.
dust voice fleeting
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?
spring cuckoos harmony
The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
views hue woe
Behind the steps that Misery treads Approaching Comfort view: The hues of bliss more brightly glow Chastised by sabler tints of woe, And blended form, with artful strife, The strength and harmony of life.
eye sky long
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.
sky air paradise
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.
gratitude sweet fall
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.
sight soul vision
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
kings air wings
Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.
pain eye land
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.
pain blow childhood
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.