Thomas Gray Quotes

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, The bee's collected treasures sweet, Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet The still small voice of gratitude.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn.

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, 'Tis folly to be wise.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow’r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave
Awaits alike the inevitable hour:
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Helm nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor even thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the 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.

While bright-eyed Science watches round.

Where his glowing eye−balls turn, Thousand banners round him burn. Where he points his purple spear, Hasty, hasty Rout is there, Marking with indignant eye Fear to stop and shame to fly. There Confusion, Terror's child, Conflict fierce and Ruin wild, Agony that pants for breath, Despair and honourable Death.

The social smile, the sympathetic tear.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn.

Now my weary lips I close; Leave me, leave me to repose!