Thomas Gray

Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play;
No sense have they of ills to come,
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Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play;
No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day.

What female heart can gold despise?
What cat's averse to fish?

What female heart can gold despise?
What cat's averse to fish?

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Not all that glisters read more

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Not all that glisters gold.

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.