The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down..

O proudly name their names who bravely sail| To seek brave lost in Arctic snows and seas!.

I shall be found with 'Indians' engraved on my brain when I am dead. A fire has been kindled within me, which will never go out..

Who waits until the wind shall silent keep Will never find the ready hour to sow..

There cannot be found in the animal kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstance and connection, as the greater ma….

Who longest wait of all surely wins..

Now and then one sees a face which has kept its smile pure and undefiled. Such a smile transfigures; such a smile, if the artful but know it, is the ….

If I could write a story that would do for the Indian one-hundredth part what 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' did for the Negro, I would be thankful the rest of ….

Most men call fretting a minor fault, a foible, and not a vice. There is no vice except drunkenness which can so utterly destroy the peace, the happi….

Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last;….

O month when they who love must love and wed..

The wild mustard in Southern California is like that spoken of in the New Testament. . . . Its gold is as distinct a value to the eye as the nugget g….

Who longest waits most surely wins..

On the king's gate the moss grew gray;The king came not. They called him deadAnd made his eldest son one daySlave in his father's stead..

Gazing around, looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed to pierce the sky, looking down upon the world,-\-\it seemed the whole world, so….

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod..

Ah, March! we know thou art Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!.

O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire, What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn Of death! Fa….

When love is at its best, one loves So much that he cannot forget..

O May, sweet-voice one, going thus before, Forever June may pour her warm red wine Of life and passions,--sweeter days are thine!.

The voice of one who goes before, to makeThe paths of June more beautiful, is thineSweet May!.