A Quote by William C. Bryant

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear. — © William C. Bryant
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
But days even earlier than these, in April, have a charm, — even days that seem raw and rainy, when the sky is dull and a bequest of March - wind lingers, chasing the squirrel from the tree and the children from the meadows. There is a fascination in walking through these bare early woods, – there is such a pause of preparation, winter's work is so cleanly and thoroughly done. Everything is taken down and put away.
Those Catholics, they really nab you when you're young. They sear you. They sear you; they do.
My favorite thing is to be naked, which is why I always live in remote areas. My ideal is to wake in the morning and run around the meadows naked. I think it's a good idea to live in harmony with nature.
Lord, it is time. The summer was very big. Lay thy shadow on the sundials, and on the meadows let the winds go loose. Command the last fruits that they shall be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them on to fulfillment and drive the last sweetiness into the heavenly wine.
Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.
No matter what anyone says, it's much worse to be unloved than it is to be lost in the woods." "Sometimes, I think you've been lost in the woods all your life, Charlie Brown.
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
A few melancholy birds were pipping and wailing, until the round red sun sank slowly into the western shadows; then an empty silence fell
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales, All the air things wear that build this world of Wales.
When loud by landside streamlets gush, And clear in the greenwood quires the thrush, With sun on the meadows And songs in the shadows Comes again to me The gift of the tongues of the lea, The gift of the tongues of meadows. So when the earth is alive with gods, And the lusty ploughman breaks the sod, And the grass sings in the meadows, And the flowers smile in the shadows, Sits my heart at ease, Hearing the song of the leas, Singing the songs of the meadows.
No matter how intently one studies the hundred little dramas of the woods and meadows, one can never learn all the salient facts about any one of them.
There are two different things: there's grilling, and there's barbecue. Grilling is when people say, 'We're going to turn up the heat, make it really hot and sear a steak, sear a burger, cook a chicken.' Barbecue is going low and slow.
Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.
Tonight, she went into the woods, and I fear she shall live in the woods of my soul for the rest of my days.
Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods.
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