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And kind the voice and glad the eyes That welcome my return at night.
William C. Bryant
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William C. Bryant
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More quotes by William C. Bryant
Oh, river! darkling river! what a voice Is that thou utterest while all else is still-- The ancient voice that, centuries ago, Sounded between thy hills, while Rome was yet A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream!
William C. Bryant
Ah! never shall the land forget.
William C. Bryant
Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
William C. Bryant
Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
William C. Bryant
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
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.
William C. Bryant
Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
William C. Bryant
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
All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
William C. Bryant
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
Music is not merely a study, it is an entertainment wherever there is music there is a throng of listeners.
William C. Bryant
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.
William C. Bryant
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
I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
William C. Bryant
Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs That our frail hands have raised?
William C. Bryant
Tender pauses speak The overflow of gladness, When words are all too weak.
William C. Bryant
Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
William C. Bryant
Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
William C. Bryant
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.
William C. Bryant
Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.
William C. Bryant