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• Go, lovely Rose that lives its little hour! Go, little booke!
  and let who will be clever! Roll on! From yonder ivy-mantled tower The moon and i could keep this up forever....
• All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi...
• The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi...
• Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste. -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi
• The victory of endurance born. -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- The Battle-Field
• Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,-- The eternal years of God are he
  But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers....
• But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Autumn Wood...
• Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off
  and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?...
• And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
  -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- The Death of the Flowe...