There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Lay down the axe; fling by the spade; Leave in its track the toiling plough; The rifle and the bayonet-blade For arms… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Ye winds ye unseen currents of the air, Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Come when the rains Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, While the slant sun of February pours Into… — 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
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
Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines! In the soft light of these serenest skies; From the broad highland region, black with pines,… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? — 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
