Quote

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

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William C. Bryant
Evening
Beholds
Clouds
Hues
Hour
Flush
Air
Deepening
Among
Fairest
Hours
Hue
Earth
Lingering
Live
Dew
Dews

More quotes by 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
Music is not merely a study, it is an entertainment wherever there is music there is a throng of listeners.
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
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.
William C. Bryant
Image
The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.
William C. Bryant
Image
Genius, with all its pride in its own strength, is but a dependent quality, and cannot put forth its whole powers nor claim all its honors without an amount of aid from the talents and labors of others which it is difficult to calculate.
William C. Bryant
Image
Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
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
Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
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
A melancholy sound is in the air, A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
William C. Bryant
Image
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
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
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.
William C. Bryant
Image
The sad and solemn night hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires The glorious host of light walk the dark hemisphere till she retires All through her silent watches, gliding slow, Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.
William C. Bryant
Image
Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
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
Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.
William C. Bryant
Image
Lay down the axe fling by the spade Leave in its track the toiling plough The rifle and the bayonet-blade For arms like yours were fitter now And let the hands that ply the pen Quit the light task, and learn to wield The horseman's crooked brand, and rein The charger on the battle-field.
William C. Bryant
Image
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
William C. Bryant