All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
-- Thanatopsis
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
-- Thanatopsis
Related:
- Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.
--
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) --... - The hills,
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
--
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) --... - Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings.
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) --... - To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms,
she speaks A various language. -- William Cullen Bryant... - The victory of endurance born.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
-
The Battle... - But 'neath yon crimson tree
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of... - Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
Throws its last fetters off;
and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained... - Loveliest of lovely things are they
On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond... - So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged...
