Nature poems
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An Evening Contemplation in a College
© Duncombe John
The Curfew tolls the hour of closing gates,With jarring sound the porter turns the key,Then in his dreary mansion slumb'ring waits,And slowly, sternly quits it -- tho' for me.
To my Honor'd Friend, Dr. Charleton
© John Dryden
The longest tyranny that ever sway'dWas that wherein our ancestors betray'dTheir free-born reason to the Stagirite,And made his torch their universal light
The Hind and the Panther: Part I
© John Dryden
A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchang'd,Fed on the lawns, and in the forest rang'd;Without unspotted, innocent within,She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin
Alexander's Feast
© John Dryden
I By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne; His valiant peers were plac'd around;Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: (So should desert in arms be crown'd
Ode to the Virginian Voyage
© Michael Drayton
You brave heroic minds,Worthy your country's name,That honour still pursue,Go and subdue!Whilst loit'ring hindsLurk here at home with shame.
Endimion and Phoebe
© Michael Drayton
In Ionia whence sprang old poets' fame,From whom that sea did first derive her name,The blessed bed whereon the Muses lay,Beauty of Greece, the pride of Asia,Whence Archelaus, whom times historify,First unto Athens brought philosophy:In this fair region on a goodly plain,Stretching her bounds unto the bord'ring main,The mountain Latmus overlooks the sea,Smiling to see the ocean billows play:Latmus, where young Endymion used to keepHis fairest flock of silver-fleeced sheep,To whom Silvanus often would resort,At barley-brake to see the Satyrs sport;And when rude Pan his tabret list to sound,To see the fair Nymphs foot it in a round,Under the trees which on this mountain grew,As yet the like Arabia never knew;For all the pleasures Nature could deviseWithin this plot she did imparadise;And great Diana of her special graceWith vestal rites had hallowed all the place
[Tutelage]
© John Donne
Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love,And in that sophistry, O, thou dost proveToo subtle; fool, thou didst not understandThe mystic language of the eye nor hand;Nor couldst thou judge the difference of the airOf sighs, and say, "This lies, this sounds despair";Nor by th' eye's water cast a maladyDesperately hot, or changing feverously
To the Countess of Bedford [To have written then, when you writ, seem'd to me ...]
© John Donne
To have written then, when you writ, seem'd to meWorst of spiritual vices, simony ;And not to have written then seems little lessThan worst of civil vices, thanklessness
Love's Progress
© John Donne
Whoever loves, if he do not proposeThe right true end of love, he's one that goesTo sea for nothing but to make him sick
The Autumnal
© John Donne
No spring, nor summer beauty hath such graceAs I have seen in one autumnal face;Young beauties force our love, and that's a rape;This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape
Another Lady
© Dixon Charlotte Eliza
So excessively lovely, you can't find a fault,So excessively stupid, you can't find a thought,When Nature so lavishly form'd this face,Ah! why of a soul did she leave us no trace?'Twas to prove that the finest of features combin'dAre charmless without the expression of mind
The Snake
© Emily Dickinson
A narrow fellow in the grassOccasionally rides;You may have met him,--did you not,His notice sudden is.
God and the Fifties
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
It was shady deals andConnie Francis on jukeboxjunipers and chevy convertiblesparked outside Dino's restaurant;it was brighter skies, manageableskyscrapers, gang-fights and Kennedy;it was gambling at Atlantic City withthe Four Seasons, it was crabs andJohnny Unitas and Connie Arena whoteased my heart through ten schoolyears, her father practicing race-trackcornet every day driving us nuts onsuch bored summers of tee-shirtswith cigarette packs at the sleeve andBeachboys and weights
Cooper's Hill (1655)
© Sir John Denham
Sure there are poets which did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, we therefore may supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those
Cooper's Hill (1642)
© Sir John Denham
Sure we have poets that did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, and therefore I supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those
Ode à Cassandre
© Pierre de Ronsard
Mignonne, allons voir si la roseQui ce matin avait decloseSa robe de pourpre au soleil,A point perdu cette vespréeLes plis de sa robe pourpréeEt son teint au vostre pareil.
Le Lac
© Alphonse de Lamartine
Ainsi toujours poussés vers de nouveaux rivages,Dans la nuit éternelle emportés sans retour,Ne pourrons-nous jamais sur l'océan des âges Jeter l'ancre un seul jour?
Le Crucifix
© Alphonse de Lamartine
Toi que j'ai recueilli sur sa bouche expiranteAvec son dernier souffle et son dernier adieu,Symbole deux fois saint, don d'une main mourante, Image de mon Dieu;
