Thomas Gray

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The read more

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.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.

A favorite has no friend!

A favorite has no friend!

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune,
He had not the method of making a fortune.

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune,
He had not the method of making a fortune.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How read more

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team a-field!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!