Maxioms by William Cullen Bryant
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene
And silent waters heaven is seen.
Their lashes are the read more
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene
And silent waters heaven is seen.
Their lashes are the herbs that look
On their young figures in the brook.
A sculptor wields
The chisel, and the stricken marble grows
To beauty.
A sculptor wields
The chisel, and the stricken marble grows
To beauty.
What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's read more
What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard-row, he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;
A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
We plant with the apple tree.
Wild was the day; the wintry sea
Moaned sadly on New England's strand,
When first the thoughtful read more
Wild was the day; the wintry sea
Moaned sadly on New England's strand,
When first the thoughtful and the free,
Our fathers, trod the desert land.
