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And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Lonely
Blue
Flower
Race
Lasts
Last
Nods
Beauteous
Breeze

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The right to discuss freely and openly, by speech, by the pen, by the press, all political questions, and to examine the animadvert upon all political institutions is a right so clear and certain, so interwoven with our other liberties, so necessary, in fact, to their existence, that without it we must fall into despotism and anarchy.
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Error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven They fade, they fly--but truth survives the flight.
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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.
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
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On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh The rocks moan wildly as it passes by Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.
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Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear
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That make the meadows green and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
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A melancholy sound is in the air, A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
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Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.
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But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with many hues.
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Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
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Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering, and deepening at the hour of dews.
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Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
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The groves were God's first temples.
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Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
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