Andrew Jackson Downing

Andrew Jackson Downing Poems

The music of the busy bee
Is drowsy, and it comforts me;
But, ah! 'tis quite another thing,
When that same bee concludes to sting!
...

I saw a pretty bluebird, yesterday,
Rocking itself upon a budding spray-
The while it fluted forth a tender song
That brought a promise of sunshiny days.
...

Bright coinage of the generous sun,
Down-flung, and scattered, one by one-
They star with gold the green plateau,
...

The cool rain poured in sudden haste
Upon the thirsty sod,
And life throughout an arid waste
...

A wise old mother is Nature-
She guideth her children's feet
In many a flowery pathway;
And her strong life-currents beat,
...

I walk at morn where fairies brew,
On moonlit nights the clear, bright dew;
And every blossom holdeth up
In modest grace a dainty cup,
...

Far off the Rio Grande crawls,
A silver serpent in the sand;
And sweetly, softly, slowly falls
The shade of twilight on the land.
...

Now the leaves are falling, bronze and brown and yellow,
Some are dry as parchment, crisp as new bank notes.
Seldom do I hear the wild birds singing;
...

When life burns to ashes that hold but an ember-
A fast-fading spark of their olden-time glow-
The head may forget, but the heart will remember
...

Hush! make no sound, nor move your fingertips-
A sprite, the Ariel of birds, is near!
The airy whisper of his wings o'er the lips
Of my red columbine. His long bill dips
...

The Farmer is the lord of lands,
The birth-right baron of the soil,
Although the callous-badge of toil
He wears upon his brawny hands.
...

The earth is bright and dewy-fresh
As Dian, risen from her bath,
While, just released from slumber's mesh,
...

Though leafless are my trees-
My trees so tall and stately-
And silently from these
My birds have flitted lately;
...

A song of the joy of living,
As clear as a bugle play
When the springtide rises highest,
...

The lady moon, a goddess bright,
With shoulders gleaming bare and white,
And stately head in rev'ry bowed,
...

The common things of life are best-
The air, the sun, the rain;
They come and go without our quest-
...

I saw the round moon rising from the sea,
One summer evening from a lonely isle
Hard by the northern coast. A ruined pile,
Seat of some ancient lord of Brittany,
...

Deep in the desert's fiery heart-
From bloom and verdure far apart-
A fountain thrusts its helping hand
...

Full wealth of pleasing sights
October brings us- rare delights
Of golden days, and moon-bright, silver nights.
...

In robe of orange, and of black,
With mellow music in his throat,
Our fairest summer bird is back
...

Andrew Jackson Downing Biography

Andrew Jackson Downing (October 30, 1815 – July 28, 1852)[1] was an American landscape designer, horticulturalist, and writer, a prominent advocate of the Gothic Revival in the United States, and editor of The Horticulturist magazine (1846–52). Downing is considered to be a founder of American landscape architecture. Downing was born in Newburgh, New York, United States, to Samuel Downing (a nurseryman and wheelwright) and Eunice Bridge. After finishing his schooling at 16, he worked in his father's nursery in the Town of Newburgh, and gradually became interested in landscape gardening and architecture. He began writing on botany and landscape gardening and then undertook to educate himself thoroughly in these subjects. He married Caroline DeWint in 1838.)

The Best Poem Of Andrew Jackson Downing

The Bee

The music of the busy bee
Is drowsy, and it comforts me;
But, ah! 'tis quite another thing,
When that same bee concludes to sting!

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