William Cullen Bryant

(November 3, 1794 – June 12, 1878 / Boston)

The Twenty-Second Of December - Poem by William Cullen Bryant

Wild was the day; the wintry sea
Moaned sadly on New-England's strand,
When first the thoughtful and the free,
Our fathers, trod the desert land.

They little thought how pure a light,
With years, should gather round that day;
How love should keep their memories bright,
How wide a realm their sons should sway.

Green are their bays; but greener still
Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed,
And regions, now untrod, shall thrill
With reverence when their names are breathed.

Till where the sun, with softer fires,
Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep,
The children of the pilgrim sires
This hallowed day like us shall keep.

Comments about The Twenty-Second Of December by William Cullen Bryant

  • Rookie - 184 Points Brian Jani (5/16/2014 5:37:00 PM)

    Cullen Amazing showcase of poetry, keep it up (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Monday, April 5, 2010

[Hata Bildir]