Talk:William Cullen Bryant
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- A sculptor wields
The chisel, and the stricken marble grows
- A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
We plant with the apple tree.
- Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.
- Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
- Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note;
Braggarts and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat.
- No trumpet-blast profound the hour in which the Prince of Peace was born; No bloody streamlet stained Earth's silver rivers on the sacred morn.
- Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
- 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.
- The daffodil is our doorside queen; she pushes upward the sword already, To spot with sunshine the early green.
- The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
- The moon is at her full, and riding high,
Floods the calm fields with light.
The airs that hover in the summer sky
Are all asleep to-night.
- There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
- Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
- Where fall the tears of love the rose appears,
And where the ground is bright with friendship's tears,
Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue,
Spring glittering with the cheerful drops like dew.
- Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?
- Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.