William C. Bryant Quotes About Flowers

Quotes about: Flowers

• The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.

  William C. Bryant

  Flower, Air, Rose

• Ye winds ye unseen currents of the air,
  Softly ye played a few brief hours ago;
  Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the air
  O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow;
  Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue;
  Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew;
  Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew,
  Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.

  William C. Bryant

  Flower, Clouds, Light

• The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.

  William C. Bryant

  Nature, Flower, Rose

• The country ever has a lagging Spring,
  Waiting for May to call its violets forth,
  And June its roses-showers and sunshine bring,
  Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;
  To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
  And one by one the singing-birds come back.
  
  Within the city's bounds the time of flowers
  Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day,
  Such as full often, for a few bright hours,
  Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May,
  Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom-
  And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom.

  William C. Bryant

  Country, Spring, Flower

  William Cullen Bryant, “Spring In Town”

• When April winds
  Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
  Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,
  Opened in airs of June her multitude
  Of golden chalices to humming-birds
  And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.

  William C. Bryant

  Flower, June, Air

  "The Fountain". Poem by William C. Bryant, 1839.

• 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.

  William C. Bryant

  Love, Life, Flower

  William Cullen Bryant, “A Scene At The Banks Of The Hudson”

• Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood
  In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?

  William C. Bryant

  Sister, Flower, Light

  William Cullen Bryant, “The Death Of The Flowers”

• It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk
  The dew that lay upon the morning grass;
  There is no rustling in the lofty elm
  That canopies my dwelling, and its shade
  Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint
  And interrupted murmur of the bee,
  Settling on the sick flowers,
  And then again Instantly on the wing.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Morning, Flower

  William Cullen Bryant, “Summer Wind”

• Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.

  William C. Bryant

  Spring, Flower, Dies

• The breath of springtime at this twilight hour
  Comes through the gathering glooms,
  And bears the stolen sweets of many a flower
  Into my silent rooms.

  William C. Bryant

  Sweet, Spring, Flower

• Is not thy home among the flowers?

  William C. Bryant

  Flower, Home, Wind

  William Cullen Bryant, “The West Wind”

• The summer day is closed - the sun is set:
  Well they have done their office, those bright hours,
  The latest of whose train goes softly out
  In the red west. The green blade of the ground
  Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig
  Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun;
  Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown
  And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil,
  From bursting cells, and in their graves await
  Their resurrection. Insects from the pools
  Have filled the air awhile with humming wings,
  That now are still for ever; painted moths
  Have wandered the blue sky, and died again

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Flower, Garden

  William Cullen Bryant, “From: An Evening Revery”

• And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

  William C. Bryant

  Lonely, Flower, Race

  William Cullen Bryant, “November”

• On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh;
  The rocks moan wildly as it passes by;
  Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand,
  And not a flower adorns the dreary land.

  William C. Bryant

  Flower, Rocks, Land

• The gentle race of flowers
  Are lying in their lowly beds.

  William C. Bryant

  Lying, Flower, Race

  William Cullen Bryant, “The Death Of The Flowers”

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