Pleasantly, between the pelting showers, the sunshine gushes down. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak,… — 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
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
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
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
