William Cullen Bryant Quotes
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Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!
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And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in.
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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.
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The sad and solemn night hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires; The glorious host of light walk the dark hemisphere till she retires; All through her silent watches, gliding slow, Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.
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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
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Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.
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And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
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Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
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Truth crushed to the earth will rise again!
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The groves were God's first temple. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
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Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
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Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.
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He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.
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Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.
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Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
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Error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven They fade, they fly--but truth survives the flight.
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Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
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All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
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Features, the great soul's apparent seat.
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The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.
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Oh, river! darkling river! what a voice Is that thou utterest while all else is still-- The ancient voice that, centuries ago, Sounded between thy hills, while Rome was yet A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream!
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The mighty Rain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone.