The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown And sear.
More Quotes from William Cullen Bryant:
Is not thy home among the flowers?William Cullen Bryant
Oh mother of a mighty race,Yet lovely in thy youthful graceThe elder dames, thy haughty peers,Admire and hate thy blooming years.
William Cullen Bryant
The victory of endurance born.
William Cullen Bryant
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 to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
William Cullen Bryant
Raise then the Hymn to Death.
William Cullen Bryant
They waste us-ay-like April snow In the warm noon, we shrink away And fast they follow, as we go Towards the setting day- Till they shall fill the land, and we Are driven into the Western sea
William Cullen Bryant
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