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Poem by William Cullen Bryant


To the Fringed Gentian


Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, 
And colored with the heavens own blue, 
That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 

Thou comest not when violets lean 
Oer wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
Or columbines, in purple dressed, 
Nod oer the ground-birds hidden nest. 

Thou waitest late and comst alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 

I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart.



William Cullen Bryant


William Cullen Bryant's other poems:
  1. An Indian Story
  2. Hymn of the City
  3. The Living Lost
  4. The Death of Lincoln
  5. To a Cloud


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