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The groves were God's first temples.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Firsts
Supplication
First
Incense
Grove
Cathedrals
Temples
Forests
Tree
Nature
Groves

More quotes by William C. Bryant

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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
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Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies And out of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake.
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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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Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
William C. Bryant
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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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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.
William C. Bryant
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Ah! never shall the land forget.
William C. Bryant
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Poetry is the eloquence of verse.
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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.
William C. Bryant
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Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke.
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Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
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Features, the great soul's apparent seat.
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
William C. Bryant
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The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by. As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.
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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Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
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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.
William C. Bryant
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Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines! In the soft light of these serenest skies From the broad highland region, black with pines, Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise, Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold In rosy flushes on the virgin gold.
William C. Bryant
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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
William C. Bryant
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
William C. Bryant