76 ordspråk av William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant föddes den 3 November 1794 och dog den 12 Juni 1878
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Childhood, with all its mirth,
Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the ground,
And last, Man's Life on earth,
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.

Deep in the brightness of the skies
The thronging years in glory rise.
And, as they fleet,
Drop strength and riches at thy feet.

Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness -- a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster-children into strength and athletic proportion. The mind grappling with great aims and wrestling with mighty ingredients, grows, by certain necessity, to their stature. Scarce anything so convinces me of the capacity of the human intellect for indefinite expansion in the different stages of its being, as this power of enlarging itself to the compass of surrounding emergencies.

Eloquence is the poetry of prose.

Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.

Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings.

He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.

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?

How fast the flitting figures come!
The mild, the fierce, the stony face;
Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some
Where secret tears have left their trace.

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps
The disembodied spirits of the dead,
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps
And perishes among the dust we tread?

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.

I shall see
The hour of death draw near to me,
Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .

I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me.

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around;
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away

Love

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