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The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.
William C Bryant
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The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
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Loveliest of lovely things are they on earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
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Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
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And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
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All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
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A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
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