William C. Bryant — American Poet born on November 03, 1794, died on December 29, 1878

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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 tonight.
Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
Loveliest of lovely things are they on earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.
Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.