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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
William Cullen Bryant
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The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the first from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland glade and glen.
William Cullen Bryant
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Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.
William Cullen Bryant
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The summer day is closed - the sun is set: Well they have done their office, those bright hours, The latest of whose train goes softly out In the red west. The green blade of the ground Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun; Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil, From bursting cells, and in their graves await Their resurrection. Insects from the pools Have filled the air awhile with humming wings, That now are still for ever; painted moths Have wandered the blue sky, and died again
William Cullen Bryant
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Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
William Cullen Bryant
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Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
William Cullen Bryant
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These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.
William Cullen Bryant
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Gently - so have good men taught - Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new; the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.
William Cullen Bryant
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Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.
William Cullen Bryant
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Is not thy home among the flowers?
William Cullen Bryant
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I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
William Cullen Bryant
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Genius, with all its pride in its own strength, is but a dependent quality, and cannot put forth its whole powers nor claim all its honors without an amount of aid from the talents and labors of others which it is difficult to calculate.
William Cullen Bryant
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The victory of endurance born.
William Cullen Bryant
