Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.... — 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 sad and solemn night hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires; The glorious host of light walk the dark hemisphere till… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth,… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Gently - so have good men taught - Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new; the eternal flow… — 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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
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 Image
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 Image
