Nature poems
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When Your Pants Begin to Go
© Henry Lawson
When you wear a cloudy collar and a shirt that isn't white,
And you cannot sleep for thinking how you'll reach to-morrow night,
You may be a man of sorrows, and on speaking terms with Care,
And as yet be unacquainted with the Demon of Despair;
For I rather think that nothing heaps the trouble on your mind
Like the knowledge that your trousers badly need a patch behind.
The Four Bridges
© Jean Ingelow
I love this gray old church, the low, long nave,
The ivied chancel and the slender spire;
No less its shadow on each heaving grave,
With growing osier bound, or living brier;
I love those yew-tree trunks, where stand arrayed
So many deep-cut names of youth and maid.
May-Day
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
The world rolls round,--mistrust it not,--
Befalls again what once befell;
All things return, both sphere and mote,
And I shall hear my bluebird's note,
And dream the dream of Auburn dell.
Weep Not, My Wanton
© Robert Greene
WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
GOLIAH'S Defeat. In the Manner of Lucan.
© Mather Byles
When the proud Philistines for War declar'd,
And Israel's Sons for Battle had prepar'd,
On The Victory Obtained By Blake Over the Spaniards, In The
© Andrew Marvell
Now does Spains Fleet her spatious wings unfold,
Leaves the new World and hastens for the old:
But though the wind was fair, the slowly swoome
Frayted with acted Guilt, and Guilt to come:
Inscription on a Grotto, the Work of Nine Ladies.
© Alexander Pope
Here, shunning idleness at once and praise,
This radiant pile nine rural sisters raise;
The Minstrel; Or, The Progress Of Genius : Book I.
© James Beattie
I.
Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
Winter - The Fourth Pastoral, or Daphne
© Alexander Pope
Lycidas.
Thyrsis, the music of that murm'ring spring,
If, After I Die
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
If, after I die, they should want to write my biography,
There's nothing simpler.
I've just two dates - of my birth, and of my death.
In between the one thing and the other all the days are
mine.
To My Wife
© Philip Larkin
So for your face I have exchanged all faces,
For your few properties bargained the brisk
Baggage, the mask-and-magic-man's regalia.
Now you become my boredom and my failure,
Another way of suffering, a risk,
A heavier-than-air hypostasis.
Mr Bleaney
© Philip Larkin
'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayed
The whole time he was at the Bodies, till
They moved him.' Flowered curtains, thin and frayed,
Fall to within five inches of the sill,
The Rebel Scot
© John Cleveland
Yet wonder not at this their happy choice,
The serpent's fatal still to Paradise.
Sure, England hath the hemorrhoids, and these
On the north postern of the patient seize
Like leeches; thus they physically thirst
After our blood, but in the cure shall burst!
To The Eye
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
THRONE of expression! whence the spirit's ray
Pours forth so oft the light of mental day,
Sonnet LVII: You Best Discern'd
© Michael Drayton
You best discern'd of my mind's inward eyes,
And yet your graces outwardly divine,
Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies,
Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine;
