To each his suff'rings: all are men,

Condemn'd alike to groan,

The tender for another's pain;

Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate?

Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies.

Thought would destroy their paradise.

No more; where ignorance is bliss,

'Tis folly to be wise.

— Thomas Gray