The poets and poetry of America : to the middle of the nineteenth century . mayst not bringA mind unfurnishd, and a witherd heart. Long since that white-haird ancient slept—but still,When the red flower-buds crowd the orchard bough,And the ruffd grouse is drumming far withinThe woods, his venerable form againIs at my side, his voice is in my ear. AN EVENING REVERIE.* The summer day has closed—the sun is set:Well have they done their office, those bright hours,The latest of whose train goes softly outIn the red west. The green blade of the groundHas risen, and herds have croppd it; the young tw
The poets and poetry of America : to the middle of the nineteenth century . mayst not bringA mind unfurnishd, and a witherd heart. Long since that white-haird ancient slept—but still,When the red flower-buds crowd the orchard bough,And the ruffd grouse is drumming far withinThe woods, his venerable form againIs at my side, his voice is in my ear. AN EVENING REVERIE.* The summer day has closed—the sun is set:Well have they done their office, those bright hours,The latest of whose train goes softly outIn the red west. The green blade of the groundHas risen, and herds have croppd it; the young twigHas spread its plaited tissues to the sun;Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown,And witherd; seeds have fallen upon the soilFrom bursting cells, and in their graves awaitTheir resurrection. Insects from the poolsHave filld the air a while with humming wings,That now are still forever; painted mothsHave wanderd the blue sky, and died again;The mother-bird hath broken, for her broodTheir prison-shells, or shoved them from the nest, * From an unfinished glSsg&gr .:-. .... T IP, y K A 0= KID & D WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. L69 Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright alcoves,In woodland cottages with barky walls,In noisome cells of the tumultuous town,Mothers have claspd with joy the new-born , by the lonely forest, by the shoroOf rivers and of ocean, by the waysOf the throngd city, have been hollowd out,And filld, and closed. This day hath parted friends,That neer before were parted; it hath knitNew friendships; it hath seen the maiden plightHer faith, and trust her peace to him who longHath wood; and it hath heard, from lips which lateWere eloquent of love, the first harsh word,That told the wedded one her peace was to the sweet sunshine ! One glad dayIs added now to childhoods merry days,And one calm day to those of quiet the fleet hours run on; and as I leanAmid the thickening darkness, lamps are litBy those who watch the
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850, booksubjectamericanpoetry, booky
