William C. Bryant

Come when the rains_x000D_ _x000D_ Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice,_x000D_ _x000D_ While the slant sun of February pours_x000D_ _x000D_ Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach!_x000D_ _x000D_ The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps_x000D_ _x000D_ And the broad arching portals of the grove_x000D_ _x000D_ Welcome thy entering.

Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,_x000D_ Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green._x000D_ Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing_x000D_ With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.

Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.

When April winds_x000D_ Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush_x000D_ Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,_x000D_ Opened in airs of June her multitude_x000D_ Of golden chalices to humming-birds_x000D_ And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.

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.

The sweet calm sunshine of October, now_x000D_ _x000D_ Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold_x000D_ _x000D_ The pur0ple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough_x000D_ _x000D_ drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.

But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts_x000D_ _x000D_ Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows;_x000D_ _x000D_ Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods_x000D_ _x000D_ All flushed with many hues.

The linden, in the fervors of July,_x000D_ _x000D_ Hums with a louder concert. When the wind_x000D_ _x000D_ Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime,_x000D_ _x000D_ As when some master-hand exulting sweeps_x000D_ _x000D_ The keys of some great organ, ye give forth_x000D_ _x000D_ The music of the woodland depths, a hymn_x000D_ _x000D_ Of gladness and of thanks.

Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.

Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -

Ah! never shall the land forget.

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.

Ere, in the northern gale,_x000D_ _x000D_ The summer tresses of the trees are gone, _x000D_ _x000D_ The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, _x000D_ _x000D_ Have put their glory on.

I gazed upon the glorious sky_x000D_ _x000D_ And the green mountains round,_x000D_ _x000D_ And thought that when I came to lie_x000D_ _x000D_ At rest within the ground,_x000D_ _x000D_ 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June_x000D_ _x000D_ When brooks send up a cheerful tune,_x000D_ _x000D_ And groves a joyous sound,_x000D_ _x000D_ The sexton's hand, my grave to make,_x000D_ _x000D_ The rich, green mountain-turf should break.

The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.