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The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Rugged
Laurels
Sprays
Spray
Flowery
Climbs
Clasp
Trees
Laurel
Tree
Boughs
Love
Mingling
Ivy

More quotes by William C. Bryant

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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.
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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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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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Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
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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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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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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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I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
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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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A melancholy sound is in the air, A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
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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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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
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There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
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Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
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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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The mighty Rain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone.
William C. Bryant
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Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
William C. Bryant
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Is not thy home among the flowers?
William C. Bryant
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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