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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 C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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Tender pauses speak The overflow of gladness, When words are all too weak.
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Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.
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Features, the great soul's apparent seat.
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