Talk:William Cullen Bryant

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  • A sculptor wields
    The chisel, and the stricken marble grows
    To beauty.
  • 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.