Bayard Taylor

When May, with cowslip-braided locks,
Walks through the land in green attire.
And burns in meadow-grass the read more

When May, with cowslip-braided locks,
Walks through the land in green attire.
And burns in meadow-grass the phlox
His torch of purple fire:
. . . .
And when the punctual May arrives,
With cowslip-garland on her brow,
We know what once she gave our lives,
And cannot give us now!

With rushing winds and gloomy skies
The dark and stubborn Winter dies:
Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries,
read more

With rushing winds and gloomy skies
The dark and stubborn Winter dies:
Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries,
Bidding her earliest child arise;
March!

But who will watch my lilies,
When their blossoms open white?
By day the sun shall be read more

But who will watch my lilies,
When their blossoms open white?
By day the sun shall be sentry,
And the moon and the stars by night!

Shelved around us lie
The mummied authors.

Shelved around us lie
The mummied authors.

The bravest are the most tender; the loving are the daring.

The bravest are the most tender; the loving are the daring.