William Cullen Bryant ( 10 of 52 )
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.
Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her read more
Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
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.
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings.
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings.
The shad-bush, white with flowers,
Brightened the glens; the new leaved butternut
And quivering poplar to the read more
The shad-bush, white with flowers,
Brightened the glens; the new leaved butternut
And quivering poplar to the roving breeze
Gave a balsamic fragrance.
Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,
Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders and white read more
Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,
Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest.
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 daffodil is our doorside queen;
She pushes upward the sword already,
To spot with sunshine the read more
The daffodil is our doorside queen;
She pushes upward the sword already,
To spot with sunshine the early green.
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green.
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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green.
Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing
With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
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?
