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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.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
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More quotes by William C. Bryant

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Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake!
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Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?
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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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Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
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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.
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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.
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When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
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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.
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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!
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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
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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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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.
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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.
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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 melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
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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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Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
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That make the meadows green and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
William C. Bryant
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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
William C. Bryant
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The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
William C. Bryant