William C. Bryant Quotes About Summer

• The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Moon, Night

• Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
  Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green.
  Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing
  With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Autumn, Growth

  "Thirty Poems" by William C. Bryant, Appleton, New York, (pp. 112-115), 1864.

• But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts
  Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows;
  Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods
  All flushed with many hues.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Winter, Autumn

• Ere, in the northern gale,
  The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
  The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
  Have put their glory on.

  William C. Bryant

  Verano, otoño

  William Cullen Bryant, “Autumn Woods”

• It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk
  The dew that lay upon the morning grass;
  There is no rustling in the lofty elm
  That canopies my dwelling, and its shade
  Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint
  And interrupted murmur of the bee,
  Settling on the sick flowers,
  And then again Instantly on the wing.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Morning, Flower

  William Cullen Bryant, “Summer Wind”

• The linden, in the fervors of July,
  Hums with a louder concert. When the wind
  Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime,
  As when some master-hand exulting sweeps
  The keys of some great organ, ye give forth
  The music of the woodland depths, a hymn
  Of gladness and of thanks.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Keys, July

  William Cullen Bryant, “Among The Trees”

• The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by. As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Sky, June

  William Cullen Bryant, “The Strange Lady”

• Heed not the night;
  A summer lodge amid the wild is mine,
  'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree,
  'Tis mantled by the vine.

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Night, June

  William Cullen Bryant, “The Strange Lady”

• The summer day is closed - the sun is set:
  Well they have done their office, those bright hours,
  The latest of whose train goes softly out
  In the red west. The green blade of the ground
  Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig
  Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun;
  Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown
  And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil,
  From bursting cells, and in their graves await
  Their resurrection. Insects from the pools
  Have filled the air awhile with humming wings,
  That now are still for ever; painted moths
  Have wandered the blue sky, and died again

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Flower, Garden

  William Cullen Bryant, “From: An Evening Revery”

• La flor del viento y la violeta perecieron hace mucho tiempo,
  Y la rosa y el orchis murieron en medio del resplandor del verano;
  Pero en las colinas la vara de oro, y el áster en el bosque,
  Y el girasol amarillo junto al arroyo, en belleza otoñal,
  Hasta que cayó la primera del claro y frío cielo, como cae la plaga sobre los hombres,
  Y el brillo de sus sonrisas desapareció de los claros y cañadas de las tierras altas.

  William C. Bryant

  Verano, otoño

  William Cullen Bryant, “The Death Of The Flowers”

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