William Cullen Bryant
William Cullen Bryant
William Cullen Bryantwas an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth3 November 1794
CountryUnited States of America
among dust poetry shall sphere spirits thee time
How shall I know thee in the sphere which keepsThe disembodied spirits of the dead,When all of thee that time could wither sleepsAnd perishes among the dust we tread?
behind earth echoes glorious left loss shore tears whose
The earth may ring, from shore to shore,With echoes of a glorious name,But he, whose loss our tears deplore,Has left behind him more than fame.
ancient gray great meadows melancholy poured quietness rivers round solemn tomb woods
The hills,Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, -- the valesStretching in pensive quietness between;The venerable woods -- rivers that moveIn majesty, and the complaining brooksThat make the meadows green; and, poured round all,Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, --Are but the solemn decorations allOf the great tomb of man.
ancient brooks gray great meadows melancholy move poured quietness rivers round solemn stretching tomb woods
The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, -- the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods -- rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks 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.
brave courage fought hope land shall soil warm
Ah! never shall the land forgetHow gushed the life-blood of her brave --Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,Upon the soil they fought to save.
brave courage forget fought hope land shall soil warm
Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -- Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save.
bee call calm days dropping flowers fragrance late light mild nuts searches sighs smoky sound south squirrel stream though trees twinkle waters whose wind winter wood
And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
bee call calm days dropping flowers fragrance late light mild nuts searches sighs smoky sound south squirrel stream though trees twinkle waters whose wind winter wood
And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
call horrid men perjury tale
The horrid tale of perjury and strife,Murder and spoil, which men call history.