FastSaying
They waste us-ay-like April snow In the warm noon, we shrink away; And fast they follow, as we go Towards the setting day- Till they shall fill the land, and we Are driven into the Western sea
William Cullen Bryant
Snow
Us
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The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
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And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;
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Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger
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So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
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That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
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