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The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Hours
Lives
Nature
Littles
Sculpted
Little
Prized
Rose
Hour
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More quotes by William C. Bryant

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I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
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Remorse is virtue's root its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.
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God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.
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But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with many hues.
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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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Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.
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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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Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
William C. Bryant
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Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
William C. 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.
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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.
William C. Bryant
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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 C. Bryant
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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.
William C. Bryant
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Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild Mingled in harmony on Nature's face, Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot Fail not with weariness, for on their tops The beauty and the majesty of earth, Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget The steep and toilsome way.
William C. Bryant
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Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
William C. Bryant
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Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
William C. Bryant
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And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
William C. Bryant
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And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
William C. Bryant
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The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.
William C. Bryant
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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