The Maiden's Sorrow.

Seven long years has the desert rain
Dropped on the clods that hide thy face;
Seven long years of sorrow and pain
I have thought of thy burial-place.

Thought of thy fate in the distant west,
Dying with none that loved thee near;
They who flung the earth on thy breast
Turned from the spot williout a tear.

There, I think, on that lonely grave,
Violets spring in the soft May shower;
There, in the summer breezes, wave
Crimson phlox and moccasin flower.

There the turtles alight, and there
Feeds with her fawn the timid doe;
There, when the winter woods are bare,
Walks the wolf on the crackling snow.

Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away;
All my task upon earth is done;
My poor father, old and gray,
Slumbers beneath the churchyard stone.

In the dreams of my lonely bed,
Ever thy form before me seems;
All night long I talk with the dead,
All day long I think of my dreams.

This deep wound that bleeds and aches,
This long pain, a sleepless pain,
When the Father my spirit takes,
I shall feel it no more again.

William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant was an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post. He is notably recognized for his poems such as "Thanatopsis" and "To a Waterfowl," which reflect nature and human mortality. Bryant was a leading figure in American literature and played a significant role in bringing European Romanticism to American literature. During his lifetime, he was also known for his political and social influence.

William Cullen Bryant

The Future Life.

William Cullen Bryant, Simple Poetry

The Two Graves.

William Cullen Bryant, Simple Poetry

Earth's Children Cleave To Earth.

William Cullen Bryant, Simple Poetry

The White-Footed Deer.

William Cullen Bryant, Simple Poetry

English

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June.

I gazed upon the glorious sky
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Matron! the children of whose love,
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The Two Graves.

'Tis a bleak wild hill, but green and bright
In the summer warmth and the mid-day light;
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The Burial-Place. - A Fragment.

Erewhile, on England's pleasant shores, our sires
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An Evening Revery. - From An Unfinished Poem.

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