The shy little Mayflower weaves her nest, But the south wind sighs o'er the fragrant loam, And betrays the path to her woodland home.

- Sarah Helen Whitman

When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away.

- Sarah Helen Whitman

Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow The gentian n…

- Sarah Helen Whitman

The aster greets us as we pass With her faint smile.

- Sarah Helen Whitman