Thomas Gray

The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the read more

The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are open paradise.

In climes beyond the solar road.

In climes beyond the solar road.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they read more

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.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

There scatter'd oft the earliest of ye Year
By Hands unseen are showers of Vi'lets found;
The read more

There scatter'd oft the earliest of ye Year
By Hands unseen are showers of Vi'lets found;
The Redbreast loves to build and warble there,
And little Footsteps lightly print the ground.