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And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.
William C. Bryant
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William C. Bryant
Mourning
Brief
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Bereavement
More quotes by William C. Bryant
The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.
William C. Bryant
On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh The rocks moan wildly as it passes by Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.
William C. Bryant
So they, who climb to wealth, forget The friends in darker fortunes tried. I copied them--but I regret That I should ape the ways of pride.
William C. Bryant
Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
William C. Bryant
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.
William C. Bryant
The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot upon its grassy mold The pur0ple oak-leaf falls the birchen bough drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
William C. Bryant
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.
William C. Bryant
Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven.
William C. Bryant
A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
William C. Bryant
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
William C. Bryant
I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
William C. Bryant
It is a sultry day the sun has drunk The dew that lay upon the morning grass There is no rustling in the lofty elm That canopies my dwelling, and its shade Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee, Settling on the sick flowers, And then again Instantly on the wing.
William C. Bryant
The groves were God's first temples.
William C. Bryant
Poetry is the eloquence of verse.
William C. Bryant
I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
William C. Bryant
Is not thy home among the flowers?
William C. Bryant
Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
William C. 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 C. Bryant
All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
William C. Bryant
The victory of endurance born.
William C. Bryant