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The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
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Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
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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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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.
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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 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.
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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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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Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
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I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
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The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.
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Ah! never shall the land forget.
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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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Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
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Error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven They fade, they fly--but truth survives the flight.
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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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[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.
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Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
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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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Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
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