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• The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- The Death of the Flowe...
• Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off
  and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?...
• All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi...
• To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi...
• Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste. -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi
• 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
• Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth that soonest pass away.
  The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower....
• Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,-- The eternal years of God are he
  But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers....