Quote

[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.

William C. Bryant

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William C. Bryant
Would
Bryant
World
Died
Lived
Poet
Written
Lost
Thought
Great

More quotes by William C. Bryant

Image
A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.
William C. Bryant
Image
Gently - so have good men taught - Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.
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 rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
William C. Bryant
Image
The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
William C. Bryant
Image
Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
William C. Bryant
Image
Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
William C. Bryant
Image
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.
William C. Bryant
Image
Follow thou thy choice.
William C. Bryant
Image
The press, important as is its office, is but the servant of the human intellect, and its ministry is for good or for evil, according to the character of those who direct it. The press is a mill which grinds all that is put into its hopper. Fill the hopper with poisoned grain, and it will grind it to meal, but there is death in the bread.
William C. Bryant
Image
These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.
William C. Bryant
Image
Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild Mingled in harmony on Nature's face, Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot Fail not with weariness, for on their tops The beauty and the majesty of earth, Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget The steep and toilsome way.
William C. Bryant
Image
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
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
Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
William C. Bryant
Image
Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.
William C. Bryant
Image
Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
William C. Bryant
Image
The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above.
William C. Bryant
Image
Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
William C. Bryant
Image
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.
William C. Bryant