What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe. - Thomas Gray

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far,—but far above the great.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray;
Along the cool sequestered vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.