Quote

All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.

William C. Bryant

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William C. Bryant
Death
Slumber
Bosom
Bosoms
Globe
Globes
Tribes
Handful
Dying
Tread

More quotes by William C. Bryant

Image
I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
William C. Bryant
Image
God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.
William C. Bryant
Image
Pleasantly, between the pelting showers, the sunshine gushes down.
William C. Bryant
Image
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.
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
Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
William C. Bryant
Image
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
Image
Alas! to seize the moment When the heart inclines to heart, And press a suit with passion, Is not a woman's part. If man come not to gather The roses where they stand, They fade among their foliage, They cannot seek his hand.
William C. Bryant
Image
The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
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
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
Image
A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.
William C. Bryant
Image
There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.
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 groves were God's first temples.
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 rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
William C. Bryant
Image
Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!
William C. Bryant
Image
Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
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