William C. Bryant Quotes about Spring

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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.

The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.

William C. Bryant

Spring, Eye, Blue

"A Winter Piece". Poem by William C. Bryant, 1821.

Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.

William C. Bryant

Spring, Flower, Dies

The country ever has a lagging Spring, Waiting for May to call its violets forth, And June its roses-showers and sunshine bring, Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth; To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, And one by one the singing-birds come back. Within the city's bounds the time of flowers Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day, Such as full often, for a few bright hours, Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May, Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom- And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom.

William C. Bryant

Country, Spring, Flower

William Cullen Bryant, “Spring In Town”

Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.

William C. Bryant

Sweet, Spring, Years

Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.

William C. Bryant

Art, Spring, Wind

William Cullen Bryant, “March”

Showers and sunshine bring, Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth; To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, And one by one the singing-birds come back.

William C. Bryant

Spring, Sunshine, Bird

William Cullen Bryant, “Spring In Town”

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.

William C. Bryant

Spring, Eye, Water

William Cullen Bryant, “Oh Fairest Of The Rural Maids”

I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain-turf should break.

William C. Bryant

Spring, Lying, June

William Cullen Bryant, “June”