William Cullen Bryant

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

William Cullen Bryant Poems

41. Ode For An Agricultural Celebration 4/5/2010
42. The Conjunction Of Jupiter And Venus 4/5/2010
43. The Death Of Slavery 4/5/2010
44. Song Of The Greek Amazon 4/5/2010
45. Sonnet From The Portuguese Of Semedo 4/5/2010
46. The Battle-Field 4/5/2010
47. Seventy-Six 4/5/2010
48. The Hunter's Serenade 4/5/2010
49. The Flood Of Years 4/5/2010
50. The Hunter's Vision 4/5/2010
51. The Hurricane 4/5/2010
52. The Stream Of Life 4/5/2010
53. The Serenade 4/5/2010
54. The Disinterred Warrior 4/5/2010
55. Catterskill Falls 4/5/2010
56. The Crowded Street 4/5/2010
57. From: An Evening Revery 4/5/2010
58. The Murdered Traveller 4/5/2010
59. Hymn To The North Star 4/5/2010
60. The Journey Of Life 4/5/2010
61. The New Moon 4/5/2010
62. The Rivulet 4/5/2010
63. The Love Of God 4/5/2010
64. The Death Of Abraham Lincoln 4/5/2010
65. Midsummer 4/5/2010
66. Life 4/5/2010
67. Lines In Memory Of William Leggett 4/5/2010
68. When The Firmament Quivers With Daylight's Young Beam 4/5/2010
69. The Ages 4/5/2010
70. To The River Arve 4/5/2010
71. Song Of The Stars 4/5/2010
72. March 4/5/2010
73. Oh Fairest Of The Rural Maids 4/5/2010
74. The Old Man's Funeral 4/5/2010
75. Love In The Age Of Chivalry 4/5/2010
76. Rizpah 4/5/2010
77. A Meditation On Rhode-Island Coal 4/5/2010
78. Monument Mountain 4/5/2010
79. From The Spanish Of Villegas 4/5/2010
80. Green River 4/5/2010

Comments about William Cullen Bryant

  • Codee (5/10/2018 4:14:00 PM)

    It is a creole asking

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  • stine (4/28/2018 7:32:00 PM)

    tell me not a mournful number, life is but a empty dream, for the soul is dead that slumbers and life is not what it seems

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 Strange Lady

The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by,
As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool dear sky;
Young Albert, in the forest's edge, has heard a rustling sound
An arrow slightly strikes his hand and falls upon the ground.

A lovely woman from the wood comes suddenly in sight;
Her merry eye is full and black, her cheek is brown and bright;
She wears a tunic of the blue, her belt with beads is strung,
And yet she speaks in gentle tones, and in the

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