Nature poems
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Sonnet VI "I Scarcely Grieve, O Nature! at the Lot"
© Henry Timrod
I scarcely grieve, O Nature! at the lot
That pent my life within a city's bounds,
Wordsworth
© Charles Harpur
With what a plenitude of pure delight
He triumphs on the mountains cloudy height,
With what a gleeful harmony of joy
He wanders down the vale as happy as a boy!
Sonnet XX
© William Shakespeare
A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
Sonnet XVIII
© William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sketches In The Exhibition
© William Lisle Bowles
How clear a strife of light and shade is spread!
The face how touched with nature's loveliest red!
The eye, how eloquent, and yet how meek!
The glow subdued, yet mantling on thy cheek!
M----ve! I mark alone thy beauteous face,
But all is nature, dignity, and grace!
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 118.
© Alfred Tennyson
Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime,
The herald of a higher race,
And of himself in higher place,
If so he type this work of time
Sonnet XI
© William Shakespeare
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Sonnet XCIV
© William Shakespeare
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
Sonnet LXXXIV
© William Shakespeare
Who is it that says most? which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew.
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - June
© George MacDonald
1.
FROM thine, as then, the healing virtue goes
The Slaves Of Martinique
© John Greenleaf Whittier
BEAMS of noon, like burning lances, through the tree-tops flash and glisten,
As she stands before her lover, with raised face to look and listen.
Dark, but comely, like the maiden in the ancient Jewish song:
Scarcely has the toil of task-fields done her graceful beauty wrong.
Sonnet LXVII
© William Shakespeare
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before the bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Le Malade
© André Marie de Chénier
'Apollon, dieu sauveur, dieu des savants mystères,
Dieu de la vie, et dieu des plantes salutaires,
Sonnet LX
© William Shakespeare
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
November
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WITHIN the deep-blue eyes of Heaven a haze
Of saddened passion dims their tender light,
For that her fair queen-child, the Summer bright,
Lies a wan corse amidst her mouldering bays:
Sonnet IV: Unthrifty Loveliness, Why Dost Thou Spend
© William Shakespeare
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Sonnet IV
© William Shakespeare
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Autumn Sadness
© Emma Lazarus
Air and sky are swathed in gold
Fold on fold,
Light glows through the trees like wine.
Earth, sun-quickened, swoons for bliss
'Neath his kiss,
Breathless in a trance divine.
Artegal And Elidure
© William Wordsworth
WHERE be the temples which, in Britain's Isle,
For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised?
