The Friends of Cedarmere

The Friends of Cedarmere To preserve and promote public use of Nassau County's Park, Cedarmere, the estate of William Cullen Bryant, a prominent 19th century poet & civic leader.

As a charitable non-profit corporation, THE FRIENDS OF CEDARMERE, INC., strive to build membership and solicit tax-deductible grants and donations, either financial or in-kind, to maintain Cedarmere's historic gardens. We also work to re-open historically significant rooms in the main building and the Mill for various uses, including:

performances
workshops
special exhibits
resear

ch programs
lectures and tours
other site-appropriate functions and events

In addition, The Friends of Cedarmere Inc. assist and advise Nassau County with respect to increasing public awareness and appreciation of the historical, cultural and environmental heritage of Cedarmere, and its brilliant and influential former owner, William Cullen Bryant - the prominent 19th century poet, newspaper editor and civic leader.

The historic gardens at Cedarmere are starting their warm-weather bloom. Get outside!
05/27/2026

The historic gardens at Cedarmere are starting their warm-weather bloom. Get outside!

With the weather warming, one never knows what (or who!) they'll see in and around the pond at Cedarmere. We thought th...
05/24/2026

With the weather warming, one never knows what (or who!) they'll see in and around the pond at Cedarmere. We thought this might be an old Box or Snapping - but it's a Red-eared Slider (a very old one, at that). They love to bask undisturbed, so if you happen to see him (or her), wave and let them be.

The owls, egrets, gulls, osprey, tern, jays, robins, sparrows and swallows - they're out and about, too. Bring your camera and your binoculars!

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN.By William Cullen BryantThou blossom bright with autumn dew,And coloured with the heaven's own bl...
05/18/2026

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN.
By William Cullen Bryant

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,
And coloured with the heaven's own blue,
That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night.

Thou comest not when violets lean
O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen,
Or columbines, in purple dressed,
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.

Thou waitest late and com'st alone,
When woods are bare and birds are flown,
And frosts and shortening days portend
The aged year is near his end.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye
Look through its fringes to the sky,
Blue—blue—as if that sky let fall
A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see
The hour of death draw near to me,
Hope, blossoming within my heart,
May look to heaven as I depart.

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.By William Cullen BryantIs this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs aro...
05/15/2026

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.
By William Cullen Bryant

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around;
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,
And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles;
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

SPRING IN TOWN.By William Cullen BryantThe country ever has a lagging Spring, Waiting for May to call its violets for...
05/10/2026

SPRING IN TOWN.
By William Cullen Bryant

The country ever has a lagging Spring,
Waiting for May to call its violets forth,
And June its roses—showers and sunshine bring,
Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;
To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
And one by one the singing-birds come back.

Within the city's bounds the time of flowers
Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day,
Such as full often, for a few bright hours,
Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May,
Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom—
And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom.

For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then
Gorgeous as are a rivulet's banks in June,
That overhung with blossoms, through its glen,
Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon,
And they who search the untrodden wood for flowers
Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours.

For here are eyes that shame the violet,
Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies,
And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set,
The anemones by forest fountains rise;
And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak
Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek.

And thick about those lovely temples lie
Locks that the lucky Vignardonne has curled,
Thrice happy man! whose trade it is to buy,
And bake, and braid those love-knots of the world;
Who curls of every glossy colour keepest,
And sellest, it is said, the blackest cheapest.

And well thou mayst—for Italy's brown maids
Send the dark locks with which their brows are dressed,
And Gascon lasses, from their jetty braids,
Crop half, to buy a riband for the rest;
But the fresh Norman girls their tresses spare,
And the Dutch damsel keeps her flaxen hair.

Then, henceforth, let no maid nor matron grieve,
To see her locks of an unlovely hue,
Frouzy or thin, for liberal art shall give
Such piles of curls as nature never knew.
Eve, with her veil of tresses, at the sight
Had blushed, outdone, and owned herself a fright.

Soft voices and light laughter wake the street,
Like notes of woodbirds, and where'er the eye
Threads the long way, plumes wave, and twinkling feet
Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by.
The ostrich, hurrying o'er the desert space,
Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleeter pace.

No swimming Juno gait, of languor born,
Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace,
Light as Camilla's o'er the unbent corn,—
A step that speaks the spirit of the place,
Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away
To Sing Sing and the shores of Tappan bay.

Ye that dash by in chariots! who will care
For steeds or footmen now? ye cannot show
Fair face, and dazzling dress, and graceful air,
And last edition of the shape! Ah no,
These sights are for the earth and open sky,
And your loud wheels unheeded rattle by.

Join us for this writing retreat!
05/02/2026

Join us for this writing retreat!

Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), was an American writer whose literary and civic contribution feel especially significant now, ...
04/28/2026

Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), was an American writer whose literary and civic contribution feel especially significant now, a time of re-examining patriotism, heightened Anti-Semitism and xenophobia, conflicting ideas on immigration, and the 250th anniversary of the United States.
Born in New York City, Emma Lazarus is best remembered for writing "The New Colossus", sonnet inspired by the Statue of Liberty. Lazarus wrote the poem, in 1883, as part of the effort to raise money for the pedestal of the statue. Written in Petrarchan sonnet form, was intended to be auctioned off, along with other artworks to add to the fundraising efforts.
However, some of the first inspiration for Lazarus was the American Civil War. An early collection of her writing, Poems and Translations, written between the ages of 14 and 17, appeared in 1867 (New York), and was commended by William Cullen Bryant. The collection included translations from the writings of Friedrich Schiller, Heinrich Heine, Alexandre Dumas, and Victor Hugo.
Bryant, one of the era's most respected poets commented that Lazarus's poetry was "better than I remember to have seen written by any American girl of eighteen." Emma was thrilled by the glowing public reception of her first book. Lazarus continued to write, publish, and establish friendships with other writers, including Ralph Waldo Emerson.
In 1886, the Statue of Liberty officially opened. Lazarus died of cancer the following year at the age of 38.
In 1901, Georgina Schuyler, a dear friend of Emma Lazarus, and the great-granddaughter of Alexander Hamilton, led a campaign to have “The New Colossus” cast into a bronze plaque to be displayed at the base of the statue. It was added to the pedestal in 1903 and continues, today, to move and inspire millions of people.

The New Colossus
by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

In "An Invitation to the Country," William Cullen Bryant invites his daughter, Julia (June 29, 1831 - July 24, 1907) to ...
04/19/2026

In "An Invitation to the Country," William Cullen Bryant invites his daughter, Julia (June 29, 1831 - July 24, 1907) to visit him at his Long Island summer estate, Cedarmere, to enjoy the "Easter sparrow," the daffodil at the door and "the April breezes." He urges her to leave "the gloomy city" for the magic moment of early spring at Cedarmere.

Below, that request in poetry, from father to daughter; written at Cedarmere and first published in Harper's Weekly in May 1857.

An Invitation the Country
By William Cullen Bryant

ALREADY, close by our summer dwelling,
The Easter sparrow repeats her song;
A merry warbler, she chides the blossoms—
The idle blossoms that sleep so long.

The bluebird chants, from the elm’s long branches,
A hymn to welcome the budding year.
The south wind wanders from field to forest,
And softly whispers, “The Spring is here.”

Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city,
Before those lays from the elm have ceased;
The violet breathes, by our door, as sweetly
As in the air of her native East.

Though many a flower in the wood is waking,
The daffodil is our doorside queen;
She pushes upward the sward already,
To spot with sunshine the early green.

No lays so joyous as these are warbled
From wiry prison in maiden’s bower;
No pampered bloom of the green-house chamber
Has half the charm of the lawn’s first flower.

Yet these sweet sounds of the early season,
And these fair sights of its sunny days,
Are only sweet when we fondly listen,
And only fair when we fondly gaze.

There is no glory in star or blossom
Till looked upon by loving eye;
There is no fragrance in April breezes
Till breathed with joy as they wander by.

Come, Julia dear, for the sprouting willows,
The opening flowers, and the gleaming brooks,
And hollows, green in the sun, are waiting
Their dower of beauty from thy glad looks.

Address

225 Bryant Avenue
Roslyn Harbor, NY
11576

Telephone

+5165443944

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