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He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Prove
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William

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Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
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Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
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The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
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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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A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
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The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.
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Hark to that shrill, sudden shout, The cry of an applauding multitude, Swayed by some loud-voiced orator who wields The living mass as if he were its soul!
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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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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
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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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The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.
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It is a sultry day the sun has drunk The dew that lay upon the morning grass There is no rustling in the lofty elm That canopies my dwelling, and its shade Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee, Settling on the sick flowers, And then again Instantly on the wing.
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Ah, never shall the land forget How gush'd the life-blood of the brave, Gush'd warm with hope and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save!
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Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
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All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
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Remorse is virtue's root its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.
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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.
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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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