Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings. William C. Bryant More Quotes by William C. Bryant More Quotes From William C. Bryant A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty. William C. Bryant sculpture marble grows 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. William C. Bryant green ocean men I hear the howl of the wind that brings William C. Bryant wings wind long Do not the bright June roses blow William C. Bryant kissing blow morning A melancholy sound is in the air, William C. Bryant distance air night And kind the voice and glad the eyes William C. Bryant voice eye night The hushed winds their Sabbath keep. William C. Bryant sabbath wind Ye winds ye unseen currents of the air, William C. Bryant light flower clouds Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again. William C. Bryant honesty wisdom truth 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. William C. Bryant perfect beautiful art 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 by 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 C. Bryant dream lying moving So they, who climb to wealth, forget William C. Bryant regret pride way I gazed upon the glorious sky William C. Bryant june spring lying 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 eye men war Father, thy hand William C. Bryant rose father hands Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste. William C. Bryant melancholy waste ocean Hark to that shrill, sudden shout, William C. Bryant oratory cry soul Poetry is the eloquence of verse. William C. Bryant eloquence poetry-is poetry And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in. William C. Bryant silent window Heed not the night; William C. Bryant june summer night
