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The sad and solemn night hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires The glorious host of light walk the dark hemisphere till she retires All through her silent watches, gliding slow, Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Come
Walk
Climbs
Fires
Walks
Hath
Multitude
Fire
Host
Heavens
Stars
Glorious
Multitudes
Dark
Slow
Solemn
Retires
Heaven
Till
Retiring
Gliding
Night
Silent
Cheerful
Constellations
Light
Watches
Climb
Hemisphere

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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven.
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Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
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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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When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
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The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
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Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.
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The groves were God's first temple. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
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Follow thou thy choice.
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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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