Thomas Gray
Ode On The Pleasure Arising From Vicissitude
Now the golden Morn aloft Waves her dew-bespangled wing, With vermeil cheek and whisper soft She wooes the tardy Spring: Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance from the ground, And lightly
Ode On The Spring
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours, Fair Venus’ train, appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year! The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo’s note, The untaught harmony of spring:
On The Death Of A Favourite Cat, Drowned In A Tub Of Gold Fishes
‘Twas on a lofty vase’s side, Where China’s gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow, Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima, reclined, Gazed on the lake below. Her conscious tail
The Fatal Sisters
Now the storm begins to lower, (Haste, the loom of Hell prepares!) Iron-sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darkened air. Glittering lances are the loom, Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many
Sonnet On The Death Of Mr Richard West
In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, And redd’ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join; Or cheerful fields resume their green attire: These ears, alas! for
Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Eton College
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, That crown the watery glade, Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry’s holy shade; And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor’s heights th’ expanse below Of
The Bard
Pindaric Ode “Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait! Tho’ fanned by Conquest’s crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk’s twisted mail, Nor e’en thy virtues,
Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades
The Progress of Poesy
A Pindaric Ode Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon’s harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take: The laughing flowers that round them blow Drink
Hymn To Adversity
Daughter of Jove, relentless Power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort’ring hour The Bad affright, afflict the Best! Bound in thy adamantine chain The Proud are taught to taste
The Curse Upon Edward
WEAVE the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward’s race. Give ample room, and verge enough The characters of hell to trace. Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall