William Cullen Bryant

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A read more

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language.

Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on read more

Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place
read more

Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place
A limit to the giant's unchained strength,
Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?

I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came read more

I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain-turf should break.