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• And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- The Death of the Flowe...
• Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste. -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi
• The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skie
  I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies....
• 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 Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Autumn Wood...
• The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi...
• The victory of endurance born. -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- The Battle-Field
• Whose house is this? What street are we in? Why did you bring me here?
  --William Cullen Bryant, poet, 1794-1878...
• All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi...
• Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi...