William Cullen Bryant Quotes
How shall I know thee in the sphere which keepsThe disembodied spirits of the dead,
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps
And perishes among the dust we tread?
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Thee | Sphere | Disembodied | Spirits | Dead |
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The hills,
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, -- the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods -- rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
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 Cullen Bryant
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, -- the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods -- rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
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 Cullen Bryant
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its death. - William Cullen Bryant