Top 27 Quotes & Sayings by William Cullen Bryant

Explore popular quotes and sayings by an American poet William Cullen Bryant.
Last updated on April 20, 2025.
William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant was an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post. Born in Massachusetts, he started his career as a lawyer but showed an interest in poetry early in his life. He soon relocated to New York and took up work as an editor at various newspapers. He became one of the most significant poets in early literary America and has been grouped among the fireside poets for his accessible, popular poetry.

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 tonight.
The groves were God's first temples.
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. — © William Cullen Bryant
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.
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.
A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.
Weep not that the world changes - did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep.
Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.
The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
I think I shall return to America even a better patriot than when I left it. A citizen of the United States, travelling on the continent of Europe, finds the contrast between a government of power and a government of opinion forced upon him at every step.
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
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.
Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?
A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
The Parisian has his amusements as regularly as his meals, the theatre, music, the dance, a walk in the Tuilleries, a refection in the cafe, to which ladies resort as commonly as the other sex. Perpetual business, perpetual labor, is a thing of which he seems to have no idea.
A beautiful city is Richmond, seated on the hills that overlook the James River. The dwellings have a pleasant appearance, often standing by themselves in the midst of gardens. In front of several, I saw large magnolias, their dark, glazed leaves glittering in the March sunshine.
Nothing can be more striking to one who is accustomed to the little inclosures called public parks in our American cities, than the spacious, open grounds of London. I doubt, in fact, whether any person fully comprehends their extent, from any of the ordinary descriptions of them, until he has seen them or tried to walk over them.
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language. — © William Cullen Bryant
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
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.
Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
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