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WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
American poet and editor
(1794 - 1878)
 << Prev Page    Displaying page 6 of 6

A sculptor wields
  The chisel, and the stricken marble grows
    To beauty.
      - The Flood of Years [Sculpture]

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.
      - The Fountain [April]

The tulip-tree, high up,
  Opened, in airs of June, her multitude
    Of golden chalices to humming birds
      And silken-winged insects of the sky.
      - The Fountain (st. 3) [Tulip Tree]

And at my silent window-sill
  The jessamine peeps in.
      - The Hunter's Serenade [Jasmines]

Within the woods,
  Whose young and half transparent leaves scarce cast
    A shade, gray circles of anemones
      Danced on their stalks.
      - The Old Man's Counsel [Anemones]

The shad-bush, white with flowers,
  Brightened the glens; the new leaved butternut
    And quivering poplar to the roving breeze
      Gave a balsamic fragrance.
      - The Old Man's Counsel (l. 28) [Trees]

What plant we in this apple tree?
  Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
    To load the May-wind's restless wings,
      When, from the orchard-row, he pours
        Its fragrance through our open doors;
          A world of blossoms for the bee,
            Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
              For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
                We plant with the apple tree.
      - The Planting of the Apple Tree [Apples]

The rugged trees are mingling
  Their flowery sprays in love;
    The ivy climbs the laurel
      To clasp the boughs above.
      - The Serenade [Ivy]

On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered;
  Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee,
    Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them
      Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree.
      - The Third of November [November]

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.
      - The Tides [Moon]

Wild was the day; the wintry sea
  Moaned sadly on New England's strand,
    When first the thoughtful and the free,
      Our fathers, trod the desert land.
      - The Twenty-second of December [December]

A breeze came wandering from the sky,
  Light as the whispers of a dream;
    He put the o'erhanging grasses by,
      And softly stooped to kiss the stream,
        The pretty stream, the flattered stream,
          The shy, yet unreluctant stream.
      - The Wind and Stream [Wind]

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.
      - Third of November [Autumn]

Fair insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out,
  And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing,
    Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,
      In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing,
        And tell how little our large veins would bleed,
          Would we but yield them to thy bitter need.
      - To a Mosquito [Mosquitoes]

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.
      - To a Water Fowl [Sea Birds]

Of columbines, in purple dressed
  Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.
      - To the Fringed Gentian [Columbines]

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.
      - To the Fringed Gentian [Gentians]

Thou unrelenting past.
      - To the Past [Past]


Displaying page 6 of 6 for this author:   << Prev  1 2 3 4 5 [6]

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