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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
William Cullen Bryant -
Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs That our frail hands have raised?
William Cullen Bryant
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Tender pauses speak The overflow of gladness, When words are all too weak.
William Cullen Bryant -
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
William Cullen Bryant -
Poetry is the eloquence of verse.
William Cullen Bryant -
When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
William Cullen Bryant -
A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.
William Cullen Bryant -
The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
William Cullen Bryant
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Ye winds ye unseen currents of the air, Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the air O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow; Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue; Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew; Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew, Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.
William Cullen Bryant -
Self-interest is the most ingenious and persuasive of all the agents that deceive our consciences, while by means of it our unhappy and stubborn prejudices operate in their greatest force.
William Cullen Bryant -
I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
William Cullen Bryant -
There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way.
William Cullen Bryant -
The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love; The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above.
William Cullen Bryant -
Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
William Cullen Bryant
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The right to discuss freely and openly, by speech, by the pen, by the press, all political questions, and to examine the animadvert upon all political institutions is a right so clear and certain, so interwoven with our other liberties, so necessary, in fact, to their existence, that without it we must fall into despotism and anarchy.
William Cullen Bryant -
The blacks of this region are a cheerful, careless, dirty, race, not hard worked, and in many respects indulgently treated. It is of course the desire of the master that his slaves shall be laborious; on the other hand it is the determination of the slave to lead as easy a life as he can. The master has the power of punishment on his side; the slave, on his, has invincible inclination, and a thousand expedients learned by long practice... Good natured though imperfect and slovenly obedience on one side, is purchased by good treatment on the other.
William Cullen Bryant -
Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke.
William Cullen Bryant -
Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.
William Cullen Bryant -
Heed not the night; A summer lodge amid the wild is mine, 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'Tis mantled by the vine.
William Cullen Bryant -
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
William Cullen Bryant
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Come when the rains Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering.
William Cullen Bryant -
Hark to that shrill, sudden shout, The cry of an applauding multitude, Swayed by some loud-voiced orator who wields The living mass as if he were its soul!
William Cullen Bryant -
It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
William Cullen Bryant -
The linden, in the fervors of July, Hums with a louder concert. When the wind Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime, As when some master-hand exulting sweeps The keys of some great organ, ye give forth The music of the woodland depths, a hymn Of gladness and of thanks.
William Cullen Bryant