William Cullen Bryant

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

poet William Cullen Bryant
#274 on top 500 poets

William Cullen Bryant Poems

81. Song Of The Stars 4/5/2010
82. March 4/5/2010
83. Love In The Age Of Chivalry 4/5/2010
84. A Meditation On Rhode-Island Coal 4/5/2010
85. From The Spanish Of Villegas 4/5/2010
86. The Prairies 4/5/2010
87. Green River 4/5/2010
88. From The Spanish Of Pedro De Castro Y Anaya 4/5/2010
89. The Waning Moon 4/5/2010
90. Life 4/5/2010
91. The Future Life 4/5/2010
92. The Lapse Of Time 4/5/2010
93. An Indian At The Burial-Place Of His Fathers. 4/5/2010
94. An Indian Story 4/5/2010
95. Fatima And Raduan 4/5/2010
96. The Living Lost 1/3/2003
97. A Scene At The Banks Of The Hudson 4/5/2010
98. The West Wind 1/3/2003
99. The White-Footed Deer 4/5/2010
100. Earth 4/5/2010
101. A Hymn Of The Sea 4/5/2010
102. West Wind, The 12/31/2002
103. The African Chief 4/5/2010
104. A Walk At Sunset 4/5/2010
105. The Skies 1/3/2003
106. Autumn Woods 4/5/2010
107. Hymn Of The City 1/3/2003
108. America 4/5/2010
109. The Strange Lady 1/3/2003
110. To The Fringed Gentian 12/31/2002
111. To Cole, The Painter, Departing For Europe 4/5/2010
112. Life Of The Blessed 4/5/2010
113. Spring In Town 12/31/2002
114. A Song Of Pitcairn's Island 12/31/2002
115. The Constellations 1/3/2003
116. The Greek Boy 4/5/2010
117. June 1/3/2003
118. Living Lost, The 12/31/2002
119. Inscription For The Entrance To A Wood 1/3/2003
120. A Dream 4/5/2010

Comments about William Cullen Bryant

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  • Codee (5/10/2018 4:14:00 PM)

    It is a creole asking

    4 person liked.
    		0 person did not like.
  • 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

    5 person liked.
    		1 person did not like.
Poem Hunter ›
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Poems
Best Poem of William Cullen Bryant

To A Waterfowl

Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sing
On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast--
The desert and illimitable air-- ...

Read the full of To A Waterfowl

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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