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There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Joy
Compensation
Shall
Sunny
Dark
Guests
Night
Hide
Light
Evening
May
Grief
Come
Early
Troubled
Every
Rest
Guest

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The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.
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Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.
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Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
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To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
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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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But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.
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Poetry is the eloquence of verse.
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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?
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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
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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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When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
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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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Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
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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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