Nature poems
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L'Alouette et ses petits, avec le Maitre d'un champ
© Jean de La Fontaine
Ne t'attends qu'à toi seul, c'est un commun proverbe
The Husband’s and Wife’s Grave
© Dana Richard Henry
Husband and wife! No converse now ye hold,As once ye did in your young days of love,On its alarms, its anxious hours, delays,Its silent meditations, its glad hopes,Its fears, impatience, quiet sympathies;Nor do ye speak of joy assured, and blissFull, certain, and possessed
The Dying Raven
© Dana Richard Henry
Come to these lonely woods to die alone?It seems not many days since thou wast heard,From out the mists of spring, with thy shrill note,Calling upon thy mates -- and their clear answers
Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Part IA silver ring that he had beaten outFrom that same sacred coin--first well-priz'd wageFor boyish labour, kept thro' many years
Correspondences
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
All things in nature are beautiful types to the soul that can read them;Nothing exists upon earth, but for unspeakable ends,Every object that speaks to the senses was meant for the spirit;Nature is but a scroll; God's handwriting thereon
The Beira Malaria
© Craig Thomas
When you rise to greet old Phœbus with a booming in your head, And your temples throb and threaten straight to burst;When your tongue feels like a doormat and your eyelids feel like lead, And your throat is dry and parched with burning thirst; When your eyeballs shun the light; And the sunshine seems a blight,You may moan your luck, and wish you'd ne'er been weaned, For your star is unpropitious And the Fates have hit you "vicious,"And you're "collared" by the Beira Fever Fiend; For he's a "daisy" -- he's a "lamb" -- And Rudyard's kippered "damn"Seems gurgling baby-prattle meant to grieve you, While the curs'd malaria rages Through it's flaming fiery stages --Only scientific swearing will relieve you
Anacreontics
© Abraham Cowley
The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,And drinks, and gapes for drink again
On Donne's Poem "To a Flea"
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Be proud as Spaniards! Leap for pride ye Fleas!Henceforth in Nature's mimic World grandees
To a Cat
© Hartley Coleridge
Nelly, methinks, 'twixt thee and meThere is a kind of sympathy;And could we interchange our nature, --If I were cat, thou human creature, --I should, like thee, be no great mouser,And thou, like me, no great composer;For, like thy plaintive mews, my museWith villainous whine doth fate abuse,Because it hath not made me sleekAs golden down on Cupid's cheek;And yet thou canst upon the rug lie,Stretch'd out like snail, or curl'd up snugly,As if thou wert not lean or ugly;And I, who in poetic flightsSometimes complain of sleepless nights,Regardless of the sun in heaven,Am apt to doze till past eleven, --The world would just the same go roundIf I were hang'd and thou wert drown'd;There is one difference, 'tis true, --Thou dost not know it, and I do
Presentiment
© Hartley Coleridge
Something has my heart to saySomething on my brest does weighThat when I would full fain be gay Still pulls me back.
The Lament of the Forest
© Cole Thomas
In joyous Summer, when the exulting earthFlung fragrance from innumerable flowersThrough the wide wastes of heaven, as on she tookIn solitude her everlasting way,I stood among the mountain heights, alone!The beauteous mountains, which the voyagerOn Hudson's breast far in the purple westMagnificent, beholds; the abutments broadWhence springs the immeasurable dome of heaven
Birch
© Christakos Margaret
Bitter the word. Bitter, meadow I am walking in.Bitter breeze filters through birch foliage.Each leaf flinches. Cherish me todayFor I am a vetch crisp & uncorrected.
Yowr Yen Two Woll Sle me Sodenly
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Yowr yen two woll sle me sodenly.I may the beaute of them not susteneSo wondeth it thorow out my herte kene.
The Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 58r}}¶Here bigynneth the prologe of the taleof the Wyf of BatheEXperience / thogh noon AuctoriteeWere in this world / is right ynogh for meTo speke of wo / that is in mariageffor lordynges / sith
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I twelf yeer was of ageThonked be god / that is eterne on lyueHou{s}bondes atte chirche dore / I haue had fyueIf I so ofte / myghte han wedded beAnd alle were worthy men / in hir degreeBut me was told certeyn / noght longe agon isThat sith
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