Nature poems
/ page 143 of 287 /205. SongGo on, Sweet Bird, and Soothe my Care
© Robert Burns
FOR thee is laughing Nature gay,
For thee she pours the vernal day;
For me in vain is Nature drest,
While Joys a stranger to my breast.
61. Second Epistle to J. Lapraik
© Robert Burns
Then may Lapraik and Burns arise,
To reach their native, kindred skies,
And sing their pleasures, hopes an joys,
In some mild sphere;
Still closer knit in friendships ties,
Each passing year!
487. The Lovers Morning Salute to his Mistress
© Robert Burns
SLEEPST thou, or wakst thou, fairest creature?
Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Numbering ilka bud which Nature
Waters wi the tears o joy.
144. A Winter Night
© Robert Burns
WHEN biting Boreas, fell and dour,
Sharp shivers thro the leafless bowr;
When Phoebus gies a short-livd glowr,
Far south the lift,
The Child-World
© James Whitcomb Riley
There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows
Cool even now the fevered sight that knows
No more its airy visions of pure joy--
As when you were a boy.
92. Suppressed Stanzas of The Vision
© Robert Burns
The owner of a pleasant spot,
Near and sandy wilds, I last did note; 14
A heart too warm, a pulse too hot
At times, oerran:
But large in evry feature wrote,
Appeard the Man.
Book Fifth-Books
© William Wordsworth
There was a Boy: ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone
Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake,
486. SongInconstancy in love
© Robert Burns
LET not Woman eer complain
Of inconstancy in love;
Let not Woman eer complain
Fickle Man is apt to rove:
91. The Vision
© Robert Burns
And wear thou thisshe solemn said,
And bound the holly round my head:
The polishd leaves and berries red
Did rustling play;
And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away. [To Mrs. Stewart of Stair Burns presented a manuscript copy of the Vision. That copy embraces about twenty stanzas at the end of Duan First, which he cancelled when he came to print the price in his Kilmarnock volume. Seven of these he restored in printing his second edition, as noted on p. 174. The following are the verses which he left unpublished.]
A Virgile
© Victor Marie Hugo
Pour toi je l'ai cherchée, un matin, fier, joyeux,
Avec l'amour au coeur et l'aube dans les yeux ;
Pour toi je l'ai cherchée, accompagné de celle
Qui sait tous les secrets que mon âme recèle,
Et qui, seule avec moi sous les bois chevelus,
Serait ma Lycoris si j'étais ton Gallus.
54. Man was made to Mourn: A Dirge
© Robert Burns
WHEN chill Novembers surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evning, as I wanderd forth
Along the banks of Ayr,
Jacqueline
© Samuel Rogers
'Twas Autumn; thro' Provence had ceased
The vintage, and the vintage-feast.
The sun had set behind the hill,
The moon was up, and all was still,
62. Epistle to William Simson
© Robert Burns
Sae, ye observe that a this clatter
Is naething but a moonshine matter;
But tho dull prose-folk Latin splatter
In logic tulyie,
I hope we bardies ken some better
Than mind sic brulyie.
The Progress of Taste, or the Fate of Delicacy
© William Shenstone
A POEM ON THE TEMPER AND STUDIES OF THE AUTHOR; AND HOW GREAT A MISFORTUNE IT IS FOR A MAN OF SMALL ESTATE TO HAVE MUCH TASTE.
Part first.
Runnamede, A Tragedy. Acts I.-II.
© John Logan
Yet lost to fame is virtue's orient reign;
The patriot lived, the hero died in vain,
Dark night descended o'er the human day,
And wiped the glory of the world away:
Whirled round the gulf, the acts of time were tost,
Then in the vast abyss for ever lost.
341. SongMy Bonie Bell
© Robert Burns
THE SMILING Spring comes in rejoicing,
And surly Winter grimly flies;
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonie blue are the sunny skies.
The Complaint: or Night Thoughts (excerpt)
© Edward Young
By Nature's law, what may be, may be now;
There's no prerogative in human hours.
133. The Brigs of Ayr
© Robert Burns
THE SIMPLE Bard, rough at the rustic plough,
Learning his tuneful trade from evry bough;
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush;