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Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Pensive
Quietness
Decoration
Melancholy
Gray
Ocean
Waste

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So they, who climb to wealth, forget The friends in darker fortunes tried. I copied them--but I regret That I should ape the ways of pride.
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
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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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All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
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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.
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Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering, and deepening at the hour of dews.
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Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
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That make the meadows green and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
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Come when the rains Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering.
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And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.
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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.
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War, like all other situations of danger and of change, calls forth the exertion of admirable intellectual qualities and great virtues, and it is only by dwelling on these, and keeping out of sight the sufferings and sorrows, and all the crimes and evils that follow in its train, that it has its glory in the eyes of men.
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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?
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Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
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Tender pauses speak The overflow of gladness, When words are all too weak.
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The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
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Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
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