William Cullen Bryant

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

William Cullen Bryant Poems

121. Consumption 1/3/2003
122. Constellations, The 12/31/2002
123. Catterskill Falls 4/5/2010
124. Autumn Woods 4/5/2010
125. An Indian Story 4/5/2010
126. An Indian At The Burial-Place Of His Fathers. 4/5/2010
127. Among The Trees 3/27/2015
128. America 4/5/2010
129. After A Tempest 1/3/2003
130. A Winter Piece 4/5/2010
131. A Walk At Sunset 4/5/2010
132. A Summer Ramble 4/5/2010
133. A Song Of Pitcairn's Island 12/31/2002
134. A Song For New Year's Eve 12/5/2011
135. A Scene At The Banks Of The Hudson 4/5/2010
136. A Presentiment 4/5/2010
137. A Northern Legend 4/5/2010
138. A Meditation On Rhode-Island Coal 4/5/2010
139. A Hymn Of The Sea 4/5/2010
140. A Forest Hymn 1/3/2003
141. A Dream 4/5/2010
Best Poem of William Cullen Bryant


To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the ...

Read the full of Thanatopsis

The Death Of The Flowers

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread;
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood
In brighter light and softer airs, a b

[Hata Bildir]