But 'neath yon crimson tree
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,
Her blush of maiden shame.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
-- Autumn Woods
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,
Her blush of maiden shame.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
-- Autumn Woods
Related:
- 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 Flowe... - Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
Throws its last fetters off
and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?... - All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi... - To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi... - Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste. -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi
- The hills,
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
-- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- Thanatopsi... - The victory of endurance born. -- William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) -- The Battle-Field
- Loveliest of lovely things are they
On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.... - Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,--
The eternal years of God are he
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers....
