Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.
William Cullen Bryant (1794 - 1878)
Source: Autumn Woods
Contributed by: Zaady
All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
The groves were God's first temples.
Source: A Forest Hymn.
The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.
Source: The Battle-Field.
The victory of endurance born.
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.
Source: A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
Source: The Death of the Flowers.
Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.
Source: Autumn Woods.
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