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
dim gaze image shall tears thy till wilder
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.
bright fast figures flitting left secret somewhere tears
How fast the flitting figures come!The mild, the fierce, the stony face;Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and someWhere secret tears have left their trace.
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.
appointed course life mighty rolls struggling tides
These struggling tides of life that seemIn wayward, aimless course to tend,Are eddies of the mighty streamThat rolls to its appointed end.
changing hear march rushing stormy valley
The stormy March has come at last,With wind, and cloud, and changing skies;I hear the rushing of the blast,That through the snowy valley flies.
changing hear march rushing stormy valley
The stormy March has come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies.
hinges stand till turn wait
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me.
cold coward fire hearts shake words
The words of fire that from his penWere flung upon the fervid page,Still move, still shake the hearts of men,Amid a cold and coward age.
cold coward fire hearts pen shake words
The words of fire that from his pen Were flung upon the fervid page, Still move, still shake the hearts of men, Amid a cold and coward age.
boundless earth fresh gardens man sinned
These are the Gardens of the Desert, theseThe unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,And fresh as the young earth, ere man had sinned --
fire frightful left scar wrath
And wrath has left its scar -- that fire of hellHas left its frightful scar upon my soul.
blast hand mouth shall standard sword thy triumph
Another hand thy sword shall wield,Another hand the standard wave,Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealedThe blast of triumph o'er thy grave.
blast hand mouth shall standard sword thy till triumph
Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.
bloody cause host noble placed pure sons thee thy
Pure was thy life; its bloody closeHath placed thee with the sons of light,Among the noble host of thoseWho perished in the cause of Right.