The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
-- The Death of the Flowers
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
-- The Death of the Flowers
Related:
- And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- The Death of... - Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.
--
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) --... - The stormy March has come at last,
With winds and clouds and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast That through the... - But 'neath yon crimson tree
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of... - The hills,
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
--
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) --... - The victory of endurance born.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
-
The Battle... - Whose house is this? What street are we in? Why did you bring me here?"
-
William Cullen Bryant, poet, 1794... - All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) --... - Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings.
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) --...
