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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
Lovely
Grief
Life
Wept
Bereavement
Mourning
Brief
Sympathy

More quotes by William C. Bryant

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Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
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To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
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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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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.
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I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
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I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
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Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
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Remorse is virtue's root its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.
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Heed not the night A summer lodge amid the wild is mine, 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'Tis mantled by the vine.
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Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
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But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.
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Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering, and deepening at the hour of dews.
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Poetry is the eloquence of verse.
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Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!
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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
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Music is not merely a study, it is an entertainment wherever there is music there is a throng of listeners.
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
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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.
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Error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven They fade, they fly--but truth survives the flight.
William C. Bryant