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Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Sweet
Year
Stills
Still
Years
Blossoms
Prime
Fresh
Spring

More quotes by William C. Bryant

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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
William C. Bryant
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And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
William C. Bryant
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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.
William C. Bryant
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To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
William C. Bryant
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Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
William C. Bryant
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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
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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
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Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
William C. Bryant
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Heed not the night A summer lodge amid the wild is mine, 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'Tis mantled by the vine.
William C. Bryant
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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.
William C. Bryant
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Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
William C. Bryant
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Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!
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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
William C. Bryant
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When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
William C. Bryant
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
William C. Bryant
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Follow thou thy choice.
William C. Bryant
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And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
William C. Bryant
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Ah! never shall the land forget.
William C. Bryant
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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.
William C. Bryant
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Tender pauses speak The overflow of gladness, When words are all too weak.
William C. Bryant