I write my name as one, …
John Greenleaf Whittier
Up from the meadows rich with corn, …
Before my drift-wood fire I sit, …
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn …
Still sits the school-house by the road, …
The autumn-time has come; …
Of all the rides since the birth of time, …
The sun that brief December day …
Here is the place; right over the hill …
Blessings on thee, little man, …
Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, …
The harp at Nature’s advent strung …
The birds against the April wind …