William C. Bryant
William C. Bryant
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth3 November 1794
CountryUnited States of America
regret pride way
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.
life flower rose
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.
freedom race free-spirit
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?
dream lying moving
So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." Thanatopsis
blow poppies failing
Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
stars eye joy
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.
fall sadness autumn
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
adversity greatness rocks
Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
god passing-away lasts
All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
poetry poetry-is eloquence
Poetry is the eloquence of verse.
men poet great-knowledge
All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
rain sky empires
The mighty Rain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone.
rome voice rivers
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!
nature flower rose
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.