Skip to main content

To Bryant, the Poet of Nature

per_el.00001per_el.00001_cropped For the New Era.

To BRYANT, the Poet of Nature1

Let Glory diadem the mighty dead— Let monuments of brass and marble rise To those who have upon our being shed A golden halo, borrowed from the skies, And given to time its most enduring prize; For they but little less than angels were: But not to thee, oh! nature's OWN, we should (When from this clod the minstrel-soul aspires And joins the glorious band of purer lyres) Tall columns build: thy monument is here— For ever fixed in its eternity— A monument God-built! 'Tis seen around— In mountains huge and many gliding streams— Where'er the torrent lifts a melancholy sound, Or modest flower in broad savannah gleams.


1. For information on the attribution of this poem to Walt Whitman, see Wendy J. Katz, "A Newly Discovered Whitman Poem About William Cullen Bryant," Walt Whitman Quarterly Review 32 (2014), 69–76. [back]

Back to top