QuotesBy.net
Home
›
Authors
›
T
›
Thomas Gray
Quote #7
Now my weary lips I close; Leave me, leave me to repose!
More from Thomas Gray
He passed the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where angels tremble, while they gaze, He saw; but b…
Iron sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darkened air.
Far from the sun and summer-gale, In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid.
Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, He had not the method of making a fortune.
O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.
I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, The bee's collected treasures sweet, Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet The still small voic…
All Thomas Gray quotes
← Thomas Gold Appleton
All T authors
Thomas Hardy →