William C. Bryant
William C. Bryant
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth3 November 1794
CountryUnited States of America
sweet spring flower
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.
stars twilight warrior
Oh, Constellations of the early night That sparkled brighter as the twilight died, And made the darkness glorious! I have seen Your rays grow dim upon the horizon's edge And sink behind the mountains. I have seen The great Orion, with his jewelled belt, That large-limbed warrior of the skies, go down Into the gloom. Beside him sank a crowd Of shining ones.
beautiful sunset sky
Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
father hands rose
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.
war light hands
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.
eye night voice
And kind the voice and glad the eyes That welcome my return at night.
distance night wind
A melancholy sound is in the air, A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
morning kissing blow
Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
wind wings long
I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
flower home wind
Is not thy home among the flowers?
wind sabbath
The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
flower light air
Ye winds ye unseen currents of the air, Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the air O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow; Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue; Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew; Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew, Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.
roots fruit innocence
Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.
memorial-day land forget
Ah! never shall the land forget.