Talk:William Cullen Bryant

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• A sculptor wields
  The chisel, and the stricken marble grows
  To beauty.

• A world of blossoms for the bee,
  Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
  For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
  We plant with the apple tree.

• Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.

• Eloquence is the poetry of prose.

• Modest and shy as a nun is she;
  One weak chirp is her only note;
  Braggarts and prince of braggarts is he,
  Pouring boasts from his little throat.

• No trumpet-blast profound the hour in which the Prince of Peace was born; No bloody streamlet stained Earth's silver rivers on the sacred morn.

• Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

• 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.

• The daffodil is our doorside queen; she pushes upward the sword already, To spot with sunshine the early green.

• The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.

• The moon is at her full, and riding high,
  Floods the calm fields with light.
  The airs that hover in the summer sky
  Are all asleep to-night.

• There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.

• Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.

• Where fall the tears of love the rose appears,
  And where the ground is bright with friendship's tears,
  Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue,
  Spring glittering with the cheerful drops like dew.

• Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?

• Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.

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