Eloquence Is The Poetry Of Prose.

To Him Who In The Love Of Nature Holds Communion With Her Visible Forms, She Speaks A Various Language.

Go Forth Under The Open Sky, And List To Nature's Teachings.

Old Ocean's Gray And Melancholy Waste.

[thanatopsis] Was Written In 1817, When Bryant Was 23. Had He Died Then, The World Would Have Thought It Had Lost A Great Poet. But He Lived On.

It Is A Sultry Day; The Sun Has Drunk The Dew That Lay Upon The Morning Grass; There Is No Rustling In The Lofty Elm That Canopies My Dwelling, And Its Shade Scarce Cools Me. All Is Silent, Save The Faint And Interrupted Murmur Of The Bee, Settling On The Sick Flowers, And Then Again Instantly On The Wing.