Maxioms by William Cullen Bryant
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze,
Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze,
Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
Thou blossom! bright with autumn dew,
And colour's with the heaven's own blue,
That openest when the read more
Thou blossom! bright with autumn dew,
And colour's with the heaven's own blue,
That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night.
No trumpet-blast profound
The hour in which the Prince of Peace was born;
No bloody streamlet stained
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No trumpet-blast profound
The hour in which the Prince of Peace was born;
No bloody streamlet stained
Earth's silver rivers on the sacred morn.
The moon is at her full, and riding high,
Floods the calm fields with light.
The airs read more
The moon is at her full, and riding high,
Floods the calm fields with light.
The airs that hover in the summer sky
Are all asleep to-night.
