The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
  The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
  And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
  And all the air a solemn...

Poet: Thomas Gray

The next with dirges due in sad array

Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him born.

Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay,

116

Grav'd on the stone beneath...

Poet: