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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
William C. Bryant
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William C. Bryant
Stricken
Sculptor
Sculptors
Marble
Sculpture
Grows
Wields
Beauty
Chisel
Chisels
More quotes by William C. Bryant
Truth crushed to the earth will rise again!
William C. Bryant
The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
William C. Bryant
Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
William C. Bryant
Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
William C. Bryant
God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.
William C. Bryant
[Thanatopsis] was written in 1817, when Bryant was 23. Had he died then, the world would have thought it had lost a great poet. But he lived on.
William C. Bryant
Ah! never shall the land forget.
William C. Bryant
I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
William C. Bryant
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?
William C. Bryant
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
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.
William C. Bryant
I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
William C. Bryant
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
Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
William C. Bryant
Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
William C. Bryant
Heed not the night A summer lodge amid the wild is mine, 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'Tis mantled by the vine.
William C. Bryant
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
William C. Bryant
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
The breath of springtime at this twilight hour Comes through the gathering glooms, And bears the stolen sweets of many a flower Into my silent rooms.
William C. Bryant
The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.
William C. Bryant