The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows. William C. Bryant More Quotes by William C. Bryant More Quotes From William C. Bryant The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower. William C. Bryant nature flower rose Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion. William C. Bryant adversity strength children Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke. William C. Bryant reign tyrants yoke The groves were God's first temples. William C. Bryant nature tree firsts A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians. William C. Bryant division politician fields But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame. William C. Bryant flames listening tree Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim William C. Bryant rocks brother death Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer! William C. Bryant maidens heart men The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye William C. Bryant eye blue spring I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . . William C. Bryant blossoming hours heart Is not thy home among the flowers? William C. Bryant flower home wind The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear. William C. Bryant autumn sadness fall Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully. William C. Bryant most-powerful imagination art Or, bide thou where the poppy blows William C. Bryant poppies failing blow Loveliest of lovely things are they, William C. Bryant flower love life Ere, in the northern gale, William C. Bryant autumn summer fall The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals. William C. Bryant journalism moral taste Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild William C. Bryant lovely mountain feet Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? William C. Bryant hands world years Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines! William C. Bryant light sky beautiful
