THE SHORT AND SIMPLE ANNALS OF THE POOR
Selected verses from Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
by Thomas Gray
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Let not ambition mock their useful toil, | |