Top 98 William C. Bryant Quotes
#1. And kind the voice and glad the eyes
That welcome my return at night.
William C. Bryant
#2. Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
William C. Bryant
#3. Pleasantly, between the pelting showers, the sunshine gushes down.
William C. Bryant
#6. Hark to that shrill, sudden shout,
The cry of an applauding multitude,
Swayed by some loud-voiced orator who wields
The living mass as if he were its soul!
William C. Bryant
#7. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.
William C. Bryant
#8. All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
William C. Bryant
#9. That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
William C. Bryant
#10. 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
#11. 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
#12. 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.
William C. Bryant
#13. Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
William C. Bryant
#14. 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
#15. 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
#17. And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
William C. Bryant
#18. The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
William C. Bryant
#19. Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
William C. Bryant
#20. I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
William C. Bryant
#22. Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke.
William C. Bryant
#23. 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
#24. 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.
William C. Bryant
#25. Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.
William C. Bryant
#26. The sad and solemn night hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;
The glorious host of light walk the dark hemisphere till she retires;
All through her silent watches, gliding slow,
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.
William C. Bryant
#27. And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
William C. Bryant
#28. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
William C. Bryant
#29. It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician ...
William C. Bryant
#30. 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
#31. 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
#32. Genius, with all its pride in its own strength, is but a dependent quality, and cannot put forth its whole powers nor claim all its honors without an amount of aid from the talents and labors of others which it is difficult to calculate.
William C. Bryant
#33. Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear
William C. Bryant
#34. There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
William C. Bryant
#35. Showers and sunshine bring,
Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;
To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
And one by one the singing-birds come back.
William C. Bryant
#36. The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep tonight.
William C. Bryant
#37. 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
#38. A melancholy sound is in the air,
A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail
Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
William C. Bryant
#40. Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
William C. Bryant
#41. The sweet calm sunshine of October, now
Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold
The pur0ple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough
drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
William C. Bryant
#42. Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
William C. Bryant
#43. 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
#44. 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
#45. Tender pauses speak
The overflow of gladness,
When words are all too weak.
William C. Bryant
#46. Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?
William C. Bryant
#47. Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.
William C. Bryant
#49. He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.
William C. Bryant
#51. The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love; The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above.
William C. Bryant
#52. 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 multiple OF golden chalices to humming birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
William C. Bryant
#53. The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace.
William C. Bryant
#54. 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
#55. The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
William C. Bryant
#56. Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
William C. Bryant
#57. Ah, never shall the land forget
How gush'd the life-blood of the brave,
Gush'd warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they fought to save!
William C. Bryant
#58. On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh;
The rocks moan wildly as it passes by;
Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand,
And not a flower adorns the dreary land.
William C. Bryant
#60. 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
#62. All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away,
Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
William C. Bryant
#63. 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
#64. Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild
Mingled in harmony on Nature's face,
Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot
Fail not with weariness, for on their tops
The beauty and the majesty of earth,
Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget
The steep and toilsome way.
William C. Bryant
#65. Or, bide thou where the poppy blows
With windflowers fail and fair.
William C. Bryant
#67. 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.
William C. Bryant
#69. Do not the bright June roses blow
To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
William C. Bryant
#70. Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
William C. Bryant
#71. The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by. As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.
William C. Bryant
#73. Music is not merely a study, it is an entertainment; wherever there is music there is a throng of listeners.
William C. Bryant
#74. A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
William C. Bryant
#76. [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
#78. The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows ...
William C. Bryant
#80. 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
#81. Self-interest is the most ingenious and persuasive of all the agents that deceive our consciences, while by means of it our unhappy and stubborn prejudices operate in their greatest force.
William C. Bryant
#82. I hear the howl of the wind that brings
The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
William C. Bryant
#83. Ere, in the northern gale,
The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
Have put their glory on.
William C. Bryant
#84. The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
William C. Bryant
#85. I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart ...
William C. Bryant
#86. 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
#87. Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
William C. Bryant
#89. 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
#90. 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
#91. The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.
William C. Bryant
#93. Error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven
They fade, they fly
but truth survives the flight.
William C. Bryant
#94. The linden, in the fervors of July,
Hums with a louder concert. When the wind
Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime,
As when some master-hand exulting sweeps
The keys of some great organ, ye give forth
The music of the woodland depths, a hymn
Of gladness and of thanks.
William C. Bryant
#95. Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue ...
William C. Bryant
#97. 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
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