Quote

A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.

William C. Bryant

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William C. Bryant
Indeed
Cause
Causes
State
States
Twere
Changeless
Weep
Stable

More quotes by William C. Bryant

Image
On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh The rocks moan wildly as it passes by Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.
William C. Bryant
Image
Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.
William C. Bryant
Image
Showers and sunshine bring, Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, And one by one the singing-birds come back.
William C. Bryant
Image
Pleasantly, between the pelting showers, the sunshine gushes down.
William C. Bryant
Image
The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.
William C. Bryant
Image
The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies.
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
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!
William C. Bryant
Image
The victory of endurance born.
William C. Bryant
Image
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
William C. Bryant
Image
The linden, in the fervors of July, Hums with a louder concert. When the wind Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime, As when some master-hand exulting sweeps The keys of some great organ, ye give forth The music of the woodland depths, a hymn Of gladness and of thanks.
William C. Bryant
Image
Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.
William C. Bryant
Image
All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
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
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