William Cullen Bryant Quotes

I watched a rerun on television of a 1960s comedy programme called "Mr Ed", which was about a talking horse. Judging by the quality of the jokes, I would guess that Mr Ed wrote his own material.

William Cullen Bryant

I assume he was descended from apes like all the rest of us, but clearly in his case it had been a fairly gentle slope.

William Cullen Bryant

My father liked Iowa. He lived his whole life in the state, and is even now working his way through eternity there, in Glendale Cemetery in Des Moines.

William Cullen Bryant

When you come from Des Moines you either accept the fact without question and settle down with a girl called Bobbie and get a job in the Firestone factory and live there forever and ever or you spend your adolescence moaning at length about what a dump it is and how you can't wait to get out and then you settle down with a local girl named Bobbie and get a job in the Firestone factory and live there forever and ever.

William Cullen Bryant

So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

William Cullen Bryant

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

William Cullen Bryant

Wild was the day; the wintry sea Moaned sadly on New England's strand, When first the thoughtful and the free, Our fathers, trod the desert land.

William Cullen Bryant

The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love; The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above.

William Cullen Bryant

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 Cullen Bryant

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death.

William Cullen Bryant

These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.

William Cullen Bryant

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.

William Cullen Bryant

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 multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.

William Cullen Bryant

These are the gardens of the Desert, these The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, For which the speech of England has no name The Prairies.

William Cullen Bryant

Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!

William Cullen Bryant

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.

William Cullen Bryant
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