Nature poems
/ page 187 of 287 /
Sonnet XXV. The Seceders 2.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
YET what were love, and what were toil and thought,
And what were life, bereft of Poesy?
Who lingers in a garden where the bee
By no rich beds of fragrant flowers is caught
The Eagle And The Dove
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
IN search of prey once raised his pinions
An eaglet;
Storm-Music
© Henry Van Dyke
Now an interval of quiet
For a moment holds the air
In the breathless hush
Of a silent prayer.
Pharsalia - Book VIII: Death Of Pompeius
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Hard the task imposed;
Yet doffed his robe, and swift obeyed, the king
Wrapped in a servant's mantle. If a Prince
For safety play the boor, then happier, sure,
The peasant's lot than lordship of the world.
The Fountain
© William Wordsworth
We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,
A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.
To Nature
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
It may indeed be fantasy when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings;
And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
HMS Pinafore: Act II
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Same Scene. Night. Awning removed. Moonlight. Captain
discovered singing on poop deck, and accompanying himself on
a mandolin. Little Buttercup seated on quarterdeck, gazing
sentimentally at him.
The Snail
© Richard Lovelace
Wise emblem of our politic world,
Sage snail, within thine own self curl'd;
Instruct me softly to make haste,
Whilst these my feet go slowly fast.
The World-Soul
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Still, still the secret presses,
The nearing clouds draw down,
The crimson morning flames into
The fopperies of the town.
Within, without, the idle earth
Stars weave eternal rings,
Solitude
© George Gordon Byron
To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
The Wonder-Working Magician - Act I
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
TO THE MEMORY OF
SHELLEY,
WHOSE ADMIRATION FOR
"THE LIGHT AND ODOUR OF THE FLOWERY AND STARRY AUTOS"
IS THE HIGHEST TRIBUTE TO THE BEAUTY OF
CALDERON'S POETRY,
The Lady Of La Garaye - Part II
© Caroline Norton
A FIRST walk after sickness: the sweet breeze
That murmurs welcome in the bending trees,
When the cold shadowy foe of life departs,
And the warm blood flows freely through our hearts:
Memory's River
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
In Nature's bright blossoms not always reposes
That strange subtle essence more rare than their bloom,
The Old Water Mill
© Madison Julius Cawein
Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise,
Between whose breezy vistas gulfs of skies
After The Tornado
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Yon mountain height fades in its cloud-girt pall;
The prostrate wood lies smirched with rain and mire;
Through the shorn fields the brook whirls, wild and white;
While o'er the turbulent waste and woodland fall,
Glares the red sunrise, blurred with mists of fire!
Italy : 42. Naples
© Samuel Rogers
This region, surely, is not of the earth.
Was it not dropt from heaven? Not a grove,
Citron or pine or cedar, not a grot
Sea-worn and mantled with a gadding vine,
