William C. Bryant Quotes - Page 6

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• Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
  Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green.
  Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing
  With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Autumn, Growth

  "Thirty Poems" by William C. Bryant, Appleton, New York, (pp. 112-115), 1864.

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• 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!

  William C. Bryant

  Lying, Dark, Lakes

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• Showers and sunshine bring,
  Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;
  To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
  And one by one the singing-birds come back.

  William C. Bryant

  Spring, Sunshine, Bird

  William Cullen Bryant, “Spring In Town”

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• 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.

  William C. Bryant

  Sweet, Spring, Flower

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• Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.

  William C. Bryant

  Beautiful, Sunset, Orange Trees

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• War, like all other situations of danger and of change, calls forth the exertion of admirable intellectual qualities and great virtues, and it is only by dwelling on these, and keeping out of sight the sufferings and sorrows, and all the crimes and evils that follow in its train, that it has its glory in the eyes of men.

  William C. Bryant

  War, Eye, Men

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• But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts
  Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows;
  Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods
  All flushed with many hues.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Winter, Autumn

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• 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!

  William C. Bryant

  Rome, Voice, Rivers

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