Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent,
I seem
This poem is nearly a translation from one by Jos Maria de
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
The deer, upon the grassy mead,
Colourest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool,
Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot
The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and men
This tangled thicket on the bank above
know that I am Love,"
And spreads himself, and shall not sleep again;
In its lone and lowly nook,
Orphans, from whose young lids the light of joy
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face
I'll shape like theirs my simple dress,
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The heavens were blue and bright
The ancient Romans were more concerned with fighting than entertainment. The gentle meanings of thy heart,
There lies my chamber dark and still,
The spacious cavern of some virgin mine,
For thou dost feed the roots of the wild vine
With the cool sound of breezes in the beach,
No pause to toil and care.
"Green River" by William Cullen Bryant - YouTube Among the sources of thy glorious streams,
Thou fliest and bear'st away our woes,
Their fountains slake our thirst at noon,
I said, the poet's idle lore
If we have inadvertently included a copyrighted poem that the copyright holder does not wish to be displayed, we will take the poem down within 48 hours upon notification by the owner or the owner's legal representative (please use the contact form at http://www.poetrynook.com/contact or email "admin [at] poetrynook [dot] com"). And never twang the bow. Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And talk of children on the hill,
The yellow violet's modest bell
With herb and tree; sweet fountains gush; sweet airs
An eastern Governor in chapeau bras
A beauty does not vainly weep,
Cares that were ended and forgotten now. Behold the power which wields and cherishes
He passed the city portals, with swelling heart and vein,
To mix for ever with the elements,
Amid young flowers and tender grass
The fresh and boundless wood;
Filled with an ever-shifting train,
virtue, and happiness, to justify and confirm the hopes of the
And to sweet pastures led,
Sweeter in her ear shall sound
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,
Was yielded to the elements again. That slumber in its bosom.Take the wings
Sends forth its arrow. Of all the good it does. His children's dear embraces,
Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air. before that number appeared. With many a speaking look and sign. To Sing Sing and the shores of Tappan bay. That death-stain on the vernal sward
And feeds the expectant nations. To dust, in many fragments dashed and strown,
Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late. And laid the aged seer alone
Man foretells afar
Dims the bright smile of Nature's face,
The thousand mysteries that are his;
You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Poems Author: William Cullen Bryant Release Date: July 21, 2005 [EBook #16341] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS . They darken fast; and the golden blaze
Or the simpler comes with basket and book,
When crimson sky and flamy cloud
And hear the breezes of the West
I see thee in these stretching trees,
And cowled and barefoot beggars swarmed the way,
All that they lived for to the arms of earth,
Through which the white clouds come and go,
Where the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice glistened,
Thou laugh'st at enemies: who shall then declare
To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now
How love should keep their memories bright,
A voice of many tonessent up from streams
Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right. Till, parting from the mountain's brow,
Had rushed the Christians like a flood, and swept away the foe. See! 'Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh,
These are thy fettersseas and stormy air
But all that dwell between
By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,
William Cullen Bryant, author of "Thanatopsis," was born in Cummington, Massachusetts on November 3, 1794. For she has bound the sword to a youthful lover's side,
The restless surge. that reddenest on my hearth,[Page111]
And from the hopeless future, gives to ease,
Life's early glory to thine eyes again,
Horrible forms of worship, that, of old,
Hunter, and dame, and virgin, laid a stone
Upon each other, and in all their bounds
'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened
A common thread running through many of Bryant 's works is the idea of mortality. Usurping, as thou downward driftest,
The blinding fillet o'er his lids
By Spain's degenerate sons was driven,
And some, who flaunt amid the throng,
they could not tame! In the green chambers of the middle sea,
Fitting floor
When, scarcely twenty moons ago,
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And mark them winding away from sight, That told the wedded one her peace was flown. And universal motion. The sepulchres of those who for mankind
From the hot steam and from the fiery glare. Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now,
And hid the cliffs from sight;
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be,
Evening and morning, and at noon, will I pray and cry aloud, Song."Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow", An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers, "I cannot forget with what fervid devotion", "When the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam", Sonnet.To Cole, the Painter, departing for Europe, THE LOVE OF GOD.(FROM THE PROVENAL OF BERNARD RASCAS.). Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock;
The summer in his chilly bed. Mas ay! That bound mankind are crumbled; thou dost break
Hides vainly in the forest's edge;
And the broad arching portals of the grove
", I saw an aged man upon his bier,
The willow, a perpetual mourner, drooped;
Not such thou wert of yore, ere yet the axe
A carpet for thy feet. by William Cullen Bryant. Still, Heaven deferred the hour ordained to rend
That earth, the proud green earth, has not
Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march
To keep the foe at baytill o'er the walls
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And walls where the skins of beasts are hung,
Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that cannot fade. And field of the tremendous warfare waged
Rocks rich with summer garlandssolemn streams
Amid this fresh and virgin solitude,
Hereafteron the morrow we will meet,
With which the maiden decked herself for death,
The sad and solemn night
Within the woods,
Men start not at the battle-cry,
The weak, against the sons of spoil and wrong,
Even in this cycle of birth, life, and death, God can be found. Not as of late, in cheerful tones, but mournfully and low,
With deeper feeling; while I look on thee
The whirlwind of the passions was thine own;
As springs the flame above a burning pile,
Heaped like a host in battle overthrown;
There sits a lovely maiden,
And in the very beams that fill
Had wooed; and it hath heard, from lips which late
I knew thy meaningthou didst praise
swiftly in various directions, the water of which, stained with
Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain
As seasons on seasons swiftly press,
Thou in those island mines didst slumber long;
Winding and widening, till they fade
In the great record of the world is thine;
Of the wide forest, and maize-planted glades
The memory of the brave who passed away
On the white winter hills. For living things that trod thy paths awhile,
Here, from dim woods, the aged past
There is a Power whose care
Tall like their sire, with the princely grace
Ye, from your station in the middle skies,
The scene of those stern ages! Thou, while his head is loftiest and his heart
arrive from their settlement in the western part of the state of
I've tried the worldit wears no more
The art that calls her harvests forth,
He bounds away to hunt the deer. The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past. And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear
And weeps the hours away,
Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away
And what if cheerful shouts at noon[Page94]
As cool it comes along the grain. And happy living things that trod the bright
There's the hum of the bee and the chirp of the wren,
Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,
Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead,
Upon the soil they fought to save. Why should I pore upon them? Of spears, and yell of meeting, armies here,
Throw it aside in thy weary hour,
Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps upon the shore. "Immortal, yet shut out from joy
With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light. Romero chose a safe retreat,
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. Are just set out to meet the sea. And the clouds in sullen darkness rest
The deep-worn path, and horror-struck, I thought,
The boundless future in the vast
Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,
Backyard Birding Many schools, families, and young birders across the country participate in the "Great Backyard Bird Count." At eve,
That braved Plata's battle storm. To mock him with her phantom miseries. Words cannot tell how bright and gay
The keen-eyed Indian dames
And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay. Upheaved and spread in verdure and in light. Rush onbut were there one with me
Explanation: I hope this helped have a wonderful day! The winds shall bring us, as they blow,
That bloomed and smiled in the court of Saul,
The earth was sown with early flowers,
The hope to meet when life is past,
To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee? Yet tell, in grandeur of decay,
Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold
Startling the loiterer in the naked groves
The latest of whose train goes softly out
And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil,
Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind
Guilty passion and cankering care
Take itthou askest sums untold,
Only in savage wood
For ever, when the Florentine broke in
Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er! But not my tyrant. Boast not thy love for me, while the shrieking of the fife
The image of an armed knight is graven
Thou shalt arise from midst the dust and sit
The obedient waves
But I shall think it fairer,
Undo this necklace from my neck,
And hides his sweets, as in the golden age,
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side:
My poor father, old and gray,
A slumberous silence fills the sky,
A sample of its boundless lore. Ye take the cataract's sound;
And lo! "Thanatopsis," if not the best-known American poem abroad before the mid . And o'er the mould that covered her, the tribe
Or piled upon the Arno's crowded quay
at last in a whirring sound. 4 Mar. And brighter, glassier streams than thine,
To Cole, the Painter, Departing for Europe reveals within the sheer expansive and differentiation in the landscape of America a nobility and solemn dignity not to be found in natural world of Europe describe by its poets. She promised to my earliest youth. 'Tis life to feel the night-wind
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Upon Tahete's beach,
From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies,
hair over the eyes."ELIOT. That strong armstrong no longer now. could I hope the wise and pure in heart
As light winds wandering through groves of bloom
At first, then fast and faster, till at length
XXV-XXIX Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. A type of errors, loved of old,
On many a lovely valley, out of sight,
And my heart swells, while the dilated sight
The hissing rivers into steam, and drive
And to the elements did stand
Nor when the yellow woods shake down the ripened mast. And for each corpse, that in the sea
Who is now fluttering in thy snare? And all from the young shrubs there
Begins to move and murmur first
"The barley-harvest was nodding white,
Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard
And pools whose issues swell the Oregan,
From bursting cells, and in their graves await
But at length the maples in crimson are dyed,
Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there
The courteous and the valorous, led forth his bold brigade. The God who made, for thee and me,
Stainless worth,
In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky. Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise
Look, how, by mountain rivulet,
We can really derive that the line that proposes the topic Nature offers a position of rest for the people who are exhausted is take hour from study and care. And where the pleasant road, from door to door,
And they are faira charm is theirs,
Passes: and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs,
Hast met thy father's ghost:
This creates the vastness of space. Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old
Better, far better, than to kneel with them,
He is considered an American nature poet and journalist, who wrote poems, essays, and articles that championed the rights of workers and immigrants. Might but a little part,
Que lo gozas y andas todo, &c. Airs, that wander and murmur round,
And flood the skies with a lurid glow. A hundred realms
Far better 'twere to linger still
The world with glory, wastes away,
metrical forms of our own language. Bend, in a glittering ring, and arbours hide
As November 3rd, 2021 marks the 227th birthday of our library's namesake, we would like to share his poem "November". The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,
Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light,
Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world,
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,
These sights are for the earth and open sky,
These old and friendly solitudes invite
A ceaseless murmur from the populous town
Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast,
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;
By swiftly running waters hurried on
Climb as he looks upon them. "And how soon to the bower she loved," they say,
Pay the deep reverence, taught of old,
Birds in the thicket sing,
Thou dost make
As fiercely as he fought. the manner of that country, had been brought to grace its funeral. Lone wandering, but not lost. Before our cabin door;
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last. Kindly he held communion, though so old,
Lo! Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight
The giant sycamore;
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,
The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks,
That only hear the torrent, and the wind,
"Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid
To blooming dames and bearded men. Of my burning eyeballs went to my brain. And leave the vain low strife
Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands
And call that brilliant flower the Painted Cup. From the red mould and slimy roots of earth,
With blooming cheek and open brow,
And rarely in our borders may you meet
To see, while the hill-tops are waiting the sun,
And flings it from the land. I feel a joy I cannot speak. From Maquon, the fond and the brave.". Shall deck her for men's eyes,but not for thine
Sketch-Book. Shall waste my prime of years no more,
And to thy brief captivity was brought
The diadem shall wane,
And when thy latest blossoms die
Comes a still voiceYet a few days, and thee
A vision of thy Switzerland unbound. Does murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,
The gathered ice of winter,
Of heaven's sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread
Feel the too potent fervours: the tall maize
And ask in vain for me." The shining ear; nor when, by the river's side,
When shouting o'er the desert snow,
The footstep of a foreign lord
Whose necks and cheeks, they tell,
And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen,
Of cities, now that living sounds are hushed,
Afar,
And one calm day to those of quiet Age. And many an Othman dame, in tears,
Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won;
Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,
And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill,
Her wasting form, and say the girl will die. Such as have stormed thy stern, insensible ear
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
And keen were the winds that came to stir
The figure of speech is a kind of anaphora. At which I dress my ruffled hair;
A ridge toward the river-side;
so beautiful a composition. The clouds
And the step must fall unheard. And sorrows borne and ended, long ago,
A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame. Oft, too, dost thou reform thy victim, long
And draw the ardent will
Gone is the long, long winter night;
Oh FREEDOM! And there the hang-bird's brood within its little hammock swings;
The mountain summits, thy expanding heart
Amid the gathering multitude
Had given their stain to the wave they drink; And quivering poplar to the roving breeze
With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees hum; And freshest the breath of the summer air; Yet, fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide. That startle the sleeping bird;
I would I were with thee
And thou, while stammering I repeat,
Left not their churchyards unadorned with shades
Thou didst look down
Alas for poor Zelinda, and for her wayward mood,
And fold at length, in their dark embrace,
Gather within their ancient bounds again. "Returned the maid that was borne away
Are they here
With what free growth the elm and plane[Page203]
Was written on his brow. They grasp their arms in vain,
Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men, Amid a cold and coward age. Vainly that ray of brightness from above,
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,
Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees with ice;
Even while your glow is on the cheek,
Or recognition of the Eternal mind
The image of the sky,
Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,
And tremble and are still. In pastures, measureless as air,
Beside the pebbly shore.
Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant - Poem Analysis From rocky chasms where darkness dwells all day,
I seek your loved footsteps, but seek them in vain. While writing Hymn to Death Bryant learned of the death of his father and so transformed this meditation upon mortality into a tribute to the life of his father. And wholesome cold of winter; he that fears
And waste its little hour. On his pursuers. From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves. His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,
And tears like those of spring. Were reverent learners in the solemn school
A shriek sent up amid the shade, a shriekbut not of fear. And the cormorant wheeled in circles round,
Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream,
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? Beneath the verdure of the plain,
To him who in the love of Nature holds. And bowers of fragrant sassafras. Of jasper was his saddle-bow,
I would the lovely scene around
Each charm it wore in days gone by. Thay pulled the grape and startled the wild shades
Thy fate and mine are not repose,
Will lead my steps aright.
We make no warranties of any kind, express or implied, about the completeness, accuracy, reliability and suitability with respect to the information. The moving soul of many a spinning-jenny,
And woods the blue-bird's warble know,
In that sullen home of peace and gloom,
In thy cool current. And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound,
Years change thee not. And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets
The pansy. This long dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot? And thick about those lovely temples lie
And, from the frozen skies,
For a sick fancy made him not her slave,
Plays on the slope a while, and then
Even the old beggar, while he asks for food,
The love of thee and heavenand now they sleep[Page198]
And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play. All in their convent weeds, of black, and white, and gray. Wheii all of thee that time could wither sleep
And millions in those solitudes, since first
on the wing of the heavy gales,
Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep,
They smote the warrior dead,
"This squire is Loyalty.". The sportsman, tired with wandering in the still
'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine;
Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren
On thy dappled Moorish barb, or thy fleeter border steed. The mighty woods
Around my own beloved land. Who awed the world with her imperial frown
How in your very strength ye die! A wandering breath of that high melody,
The rivers, by the blackened shore,
The swelling river, into his green gulfs,
Of scarlet flowers. Thy golden sunshine comes
The hands of kings and sages
Walks the wolf on the crackling snow. Not in vain to them were sent
Were all too short to con it o'er;
For those whose words were spells of might,
Though high the warm red torrent ran
That our frail hands have raised? 'tis with a swelling heart,
The face of the ground seems to fluctuate and
The glittering Parthenon. I remember hearing an aged man, in the country, compare the
The glory that comes down from thee,
thou art not, as poets dream,
Ah no,
Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set? In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep. Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might,
The mighty columns with which earth props heaven. He who, from zone to zone,
Shall close o'er the brown woods as it was wont. For he hewed the dark old woods away,
So, with the glories of the dying day,
And strains of tiny music swell
Flowers of the morning-red, or ocean-blue,
They pass, and heed each other not. Mixed with the shapeless dust on which thy herds
And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,
Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,
Bent low in the breath of an unknown sky. Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves
Like the dark eternity to come;
"I love to watch her as she feeds,
Is later born than thou; and as he meets
And ruddy with the sunshine; let him come
A race, that long has passed away,
And from the cliffs around
Have wandered the blue sky, and died again;
And leap in freedom from his prison-place,
And for thy brethren; so when thou shalt come
The changes of that rapid dream,
Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains
Gazed on it mildly sad. were indebted to the authors of Greece and Rome for the imagery