Quote

Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?

William C. Bryant

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William C. Bryant
Kissing
Blow
Rose
Meet
Wind
Roses
Morning
June
Hours
Bright
Kiss

More quotes by 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
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
Image
And kind the voice and glad the eyes That welcome my return at night.
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
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?
William C. Bryant
Image
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
William C. Bryant
Image
The victory of endurance born.
William C. Bryant
Image
Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
William C. Bryant
Image
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
William C. Bryant
Image
Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
William C. Bryant
Image
Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake!
William C. Bryant
Image
Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.
William C. Bryant
Image
The mighty Rain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone.
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
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.
William C. Bryant
Image
Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke.
William C. Bryant
Image
Is not thy home among the flowers?
William C. Bryant
Image
God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.
William C. Bryant
Image
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.
William C. Bryant
Image
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.
William C. Bryant