Welcome back to The Daily Poem. I'm David Kern, and today is Wednesday, July 22, 2020.

Today's poem is by William Cullen Bryant, an American romantic poet and longtime editor of the New York

Evening Post. He lived from 1794 to 1878, and is probably one of the most important

met of letters of American history, certainly of the most important men of letters of American history,

certainly of the first hundred years of our country's history.

In their biography of Bryant's Poetry Foundation wrote this about his impact.

Quote, no line of his poetry survives in the consciousness of his nation,

and none of his editorial pronouncements still

resonate from his five decades with the New York Evening Post. He had William Cullen Bryant

stood among the most celebrated figures in the frees of 19th century America.

The fame he won as a poet, while in his youth, remained with him as he entered his 80s. Only

Longfellow in Emerson were his rivals and popularity over the course of his life.

End quote.

The poem that I'm going to read today is Bryant's poem, Summer Wind.

It goes like this.

It is a sultry day.

The sun has drank 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.

The plants around feel the two potent fervors.

The tall maze rolls up its long green leaves. The clover droops its tender foliage and

...