The Epitaph

…from the quills of the dead white poets

Thomas Gray (1716 – 1771)

 Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth

A Youth, to Fortune and to fame unknown;

Fair Science frown’d not on his humble birth,

And Melancholy mark’d him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;

Heaven did a recompense as largely send:

He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,

He gain’d from Heaven,’twas all he wish’d,

a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dead abode,

(There they alike in trembling hope repose),

The bosom of his Father and his God.

About Avadoro Worden

Iconoclast
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