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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Hushed
Sabbath
Winds
Wind
Keep

More quotes by William C. Bryant

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The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.
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But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with many hues.
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A melancholy sound is in the air, A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
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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.
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Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.
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Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.
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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
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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?
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Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
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All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
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The groves were God's first temple. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
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Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!
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The breath of springtime at this twilight hour Comes through the gathering glooms, And bears the stolen sweets of many a flower Into my silent rooms.
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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
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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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The fiercest agonies have shortest reign And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace.
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