Quote #32
All that tread, The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
More from William Cullen Bryant
- Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.
- So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chambe…
- The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
- [Thanatopsis] was written in 1817, when Bryant was 23. Had he died then, the world would have thought it had lost a great poet. But he live…
- Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
- The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley …
- To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
- But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.