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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Eye
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Spring
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Wind
Heaven

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Follow thou thy choice.
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Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
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The sad and solemn night hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires The glorious host of light walk the dark hemisphere till she retires All through her silent watches, gliding slow, Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.
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Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.
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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
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There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
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Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
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Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
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Heed not the night A summer lodge amid the wild is mine, 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'Tis mantled by the vine.
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The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
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Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
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He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.
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All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
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Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
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The victory of endurance born.
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Self-interest is the most ingenious and persuasive of all the agents that deceive our consciences, while by means of it our unhappy and stubborn prejudices operate in their greatest force.
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Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
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