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God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Tormentor
Pale
Hath
Guilt
Misery
Yoked

More quotes by William C. Bryant

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Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
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The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
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I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
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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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Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
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All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
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The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
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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
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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.
William C. Bryant
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Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines! In the soft light of these serenest skies From the broad highland region, black with pines, Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise, Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold In rosy flushes on the virgin gold.
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Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.
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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 birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
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And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in.
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All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
William C. Bryant
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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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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
William C. Bryant
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
William C. Bryant