Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife

Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Stanza 19.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,

To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,

And roam along, the world's tired denizen,

With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 26.

And Katerfelto, with his hair on end

At his own wonders, wondering for his bread.

'T is pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat,

To peep at such a world,—to see the stir

Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.

William Cowper (1731-1800): The Task. Book iv. The Winter Evening. Line 86.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): The Bard. III. 1, Line 11.

Death calls ye to the crowd of common men.

James Shirley (1596-1666): Cupid and Death.

We met,—'t was in a crowd.

Thomas Haynes Bayly (1797-1839): We met.

All crowd, who foremost shall be damn'd to fame.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Dunciad. Book iii. Line 158.