When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The country ever has a lagging Spring, Waiting for May to call its violets forth, And June its roses-showers and sunshine bring,… — 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
Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours? — 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
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 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
