Thomas Gray Quotes on Poetry
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O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.
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Far from the sun and summer-gale, In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid.
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Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond today.
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Grim-visaged comfortless Despair.
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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?
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To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes.
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For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?
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No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.
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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.
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There the thundering strokes begin, There the press, and there the din.