William Cullen Bryant

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

William Cullen Bryant Poems

1. A Dream 4/5/2010
2. A Forest Hymn 1/3/2003
3. A Hymn Of The Sea 4/5/2010
4. A Meditation On Rhode-Island Coal 4/5/2010
5. A Northern Legend 4/5/2010
6. A Presentiment 4/5/2010
7. A Scene At The Banks Of The Hudson 4/5/2010
8. A Song For New Year's Eve 12/5/2011
9. A Song Of Pitcairn's Island 12/31/2002
10. A Summer Ramble 4/5/2010
11. A Walk At Sunset 4/5/2010
12. A Winter Piece 4/5/2010
13. After A Tempest 1/3/2003
14. America 4/5/2010
15. Among The Trees 3/27/2015
16. An Indian At The Burial-Place Of His Fathers. 4/5/2010
17. An Indian Story 4/5/2010
18. Autumn Woods 4/5/2010
19. Catterskill Falls 4/5/2010
20. Constellations, The 12/31/2002
21. Consumption 1/3/2003
22. Earth 4/5/2010
23. Fatima And Raduan 4/5/2010
24. From The Spanish Of Pedro De Castro Y Anaya 4/5/2010
25. From The Spanish Of Villegas 4/5/2010
26. From: An Evening Revery 4/5/2010
27. Green River 4/5/2010
28. Hymn Of The City 1/3/2003
29. Hymn Of The Waldenses 4/5/2010
30. Hymn To Death 12/31/2002
31. Hymn To The North Star 4/5/2010
32. I Cannot Forget With What Fervid Devotion 4/5/2010
33. In Memory Of John Lothrop Motley 4/5/2010
34. Inscription For The Entrance To A Wood 1/3/2003
35. June 1/3/2003
36. Life 4/5/2010
37. Life Of The Blessed 4/5/2010
38. Lines In Memory Of William Leggett 4/5/2010
39. Lines On Revisiting The Country 4/5/2010
40. Living Lost, The 12/31/2002
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

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