Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?
Thomas GrayBright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.
Thomas GrayThe 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.
Thomas Gray