Thomas Gray

. . where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.

. . where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious read more

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.

Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
The winding sheet of Edward's race;
Give ample room and read more

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.