Thomas Gray

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,
While proudly rising o'er the azure realm
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Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,
While proudly rising o'er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes,
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.

To warm their little loves the birds complain.

To warm their little loves the birds complain.

The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast.

The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast.

The still small voice of gratitude.

The still small voice of gratitude.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.