Green Sergeant's Covered Bridge is a wooden covered bridge in Delaware Township, New Jersey over the Wickecheoke Creek near the border between the Hunterdon Plateau and Amwell Valley. As the last covered bridge in the state of New Jersey, it is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The bridge was first constructed in 1872, but after being damaged in 1960, it was dismantled in order for it to be replaced with a modern bridge. In 1961, due to public outcry, the bridge was rebuilt from the original materials.
Famous quotes containing the words green, sergeant, covered and/or bridge:
“Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;
We have drunken of things Lethean; and fed on the fullness of death.
Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day;
But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May.
Sleep, shall we sleep after all? for the world is not sweet in the
end;
For the old faiths loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend.”
—A.C. (Algernon Charles)
“A sergeant of the lawe, war and wys,
That often hadde been at the Parvys,
Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.”
—Geoffrey Chaucer (1340?–1400)
“What do we want with this vast and worthless area, of this region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts, of shifting sands and whirlwinds, of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs; to what use could we ever hope to put these great deserts, or those endless mountain ranges, impenetrable and covered to their very base with eternal snow? What can we ever hope to do with the western coast, a coast of 3,000 miles, rockbound, cheerless, uninviting and not a harbor in it?”
—For the State of Kansas, U.S. public relief program (1935-1943)
“It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O, my soul.”
—Walt Whitman (1819–1892)