Thomas Gray

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earthA youth to fortune and to fame unknown.Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,And Melancholy marked him for her own.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.

As to posterity I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.

Where ignorance is bliss Tis folly to be wise.

Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea The ploughman homeward plods his weary way And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.

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