William C. Bryant
William C. Bryant
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth3 November 1794
CountryUnited States of America
window silent
And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in.
wind sky rushing
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.
art spring wind
Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.
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.
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 air wind
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.
lying dark air
Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake!
beautiful art perfect
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.
american-poet changeless indeed weep
Weep not that the world changes - did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep.
beyond hour lives lovely pass prized
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.
fruits increase remorse
Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.
dog sleep doors
A silence, the brief Sabbath of an hour, Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile, Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade. Now the gray marmot, with uplifted paws, No more sits listening by his den, but steals Abroad, in safety, to the clover-field, And crops its juicy-blossoms.