William Cullen Bryant

Reach for the moon, because if you don't make it you'll land among the stars.

Reach for the moon, because if you don't make it you'll land among the stars.

The linden, in the fervors of July,
Hums with a louder concert. When the wind
Sweeps the read more

The linden, in the fervors of July,
Hums with a louder concert. When the wind
Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime,
As when some master-hand exulting sweeps
The keys of some great organ, ye give forth
The music of the woodland depths, a hymn
Of gladness and of thanks.

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its read more

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its death.

The groves were God's first temples.

The groves were God's first temples.

Where hast thou wandered. gentle gale, to find
The perfumes thou dost bring?

Where hast thou wandered. gentle gale, to find
The perfumes thou dost bring?