American - Poet | November 3, 1794 - June 12, 1878
Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.
William Cullen Bryant
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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.
BeautifulArtMePerfectKindHuman
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.
EyesLookHeavenYoungSilentHerbs
The groves were God's first temples.
NatureGodFirstTemplesWere
Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
PainGoReignWearyHerPrisoners
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.
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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.
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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.
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Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
TruthRunSheOverErrorHer
A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
StateCauseStableIndeedWeep
All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
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Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.
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