Quote

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

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William C. Bryant
Sweet
Sunshine
Drops
Upon
Falls
October
Fall
Heads
Leafs
Like
Spots
Arrows
Grassy
Bright
Leaf
Bough
Lows
Spoil
Warms
Calm
Mold
Arrow
Gold
Spot
Oaks

More quotes by William C. Bryant

Image
I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
William C. Bryant
Image
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
William C. Bryant
Image
Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
William C. Bryant
Image
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
William C. Bryant
Image
Remorse is virtue's root its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.
William C. Bryant
Image
On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee, Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree.
William C. Bryant
Image
The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
William C. Bryant
Image
Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
William C. Bryant
Image
Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
William C. Bryant
Image
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!
William C. Bryant
Image
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
William C. Bryant
Image
The groves were God's first temples.
William C. Bryant
Image
Gently - so have good men taught - Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
William C. Bryant
Image
Oh, river! darkling river! what a voice Is that thou utterest while all else is still-- The ancient voice that, centuries ago, Sounded between thy hills, while Rome was yet A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream!
William C. Bryant
Image
It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
William C. Bryant
Image
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