Maxioms by William Cullen Bryant
What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's read more
What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard-row, he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;
A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
We plant with the apple tree.
Wild was the day; the wintry sea
Moaned sadly on New England's strand,
When first the thoughtful read more
Wild was the day; the wintry sea
Moaned sadly on New England's strand,
When first the thoughtful and the free,
Our fathers, trod the desert land.
