William Cullen Bryant

The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown read more

The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.

The sad and solemn night
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;
The glorious host of light
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The sad and solemn night
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;
The glorious host of light
Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires;
All through her silent watches, gliding slow,
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.

When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, read more

When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,
Opened in airs of June her multiple
OF golden chalices to humming birds
And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.

Weep not that the world changes -- did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were a cause indeed to read more

Weep not that the world changes -- did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were a cause indeed to weep.

Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore
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Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore
Only among the crowd and under roofs
That our frail hands have raised?