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
...