But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows; Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by. As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
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 Copy Share Image
The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The linden, in the fervors of July, Hums with a louder concert. When the wind Sweeps the broad forest in its summer… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk The dew that lay upon the morning grass; There is no rustling in… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The summer day is closed - the sun is set: Well they have done their office, those bright hours, The latest of… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within. — William C. Bryant Copy Share
Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
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… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. — William C. Bryant Copy Share
A silence, the brief Sabbath of an hour, Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love; The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above. — William C. Bryant Copy Share
There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
