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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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William C. Bryant
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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The linden, in the fervors of July, Hums with a louder concert. When the wind Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime, As when some master-hand exulting sweeps The keys of some great organ, ye give forth The music of the woodland depths, a hymn Of gladness and of thanks.
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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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The press, important as is its office, is but the servant of the human intellect, and its ministry is for good or for evil, according to the character of those who direct it. The press is a mill which grinds all that is put into its hopper. Fill the hopper with poisoned grain, and it will grind it to meal, but there is death in the bread.
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Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
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Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear
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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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Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
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The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.
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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
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He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.
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The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
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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.
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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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The victory of endurance born.
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Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
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Follow thou thy choice.
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
William C. Bryant