Nature poems
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Sonnet 5: It Is Most True
© Sir Philip Sidney
It is most true, that eyes are form'd to serve
The inward light; and that the heavenly part
Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve,
Rebles to Nature, strive for their own smart.
A Letter To Dr. Helsham
© Jonathan Swift
The dullest beast, and gentleman's liquor,
When young is often due to the vicar,[1]
The Masque Of Pandora
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
THE VOICE.
Not finished till I breathe the breath of life
Into her nostrils, and she moves and speaks.
The Pietous Complainte Of The Soule.
© Thomas Hoccleve
I meanë thus: if ony part of grace Reserued be, in tresoure or ellës where,That thu, for me purveyë and purchaseWolde vouchësaff, gret wondere but there wereI-nowgh for me: nought ellës I require; Do somwhat, than, aftir thi propirte,And schewe whi thu art cleped charite.
But now, allas, ful weel I may recorde, Whil I had myght and space of tyme I-nowgh,Of this mattere, towchid I no word,Ne, to seint, I tho my self[ë] drowgh,
That in myne nede for me may spekë now, As for no service that I have to him do:Wot I not, whom to make my monë to.
To The Countess Of Bedford II
© John Donne
TO have written then, when you writ, seem'd to me
Worst of spiritual vices, simony ;
Little Oliver
© William Schwenck Gilbert
EARL JOYCE he was a kind old party
Whom nothing ever could put out,
Though eighty-two, he still was hearty,
Excepting as regarded gout.
To James T. Fields
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Well thought! who would not rather hear
The songs to Love and Friendship sung
Than those which move the stranger's tongue,
And feed his unselected ear?
Of The Nature Of Things: Book III - Part 05 - Cerberus And Furies, And That Lack Of Light
© Lucretius
Tartarus, out-belching from his mouth the surge
Of horrible heat- the which are nowhere, nor
Monimia. An Ode
© John Logan
In weeds of sorrow wildly 'dight,
Alone beneath the gloom of night,
Monimia went to mourn;
She left a mother's fond alarms;
Ah! never to return!
Songs Of The Imprisoned Naiad
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
"WOE! woe is me! the centuries pass away,
The mortal seasons run their ceaseless rounds,
While here I wither for the sunbright day,
Its genial sights and sounds.
Woe! woe is me!
Of The Nature Of Things: Book I - Part 06 - Confutation Of Other Philosophers
© Lucretius
And on such grounds it is that those who held
The stuff of things is fire, and out of fire
Sorry
© Sukasah Syahdan
Please forgive us should You find this insolent
Or see no tears we shed after the latest trick of Yours
But writhing inside, we have been guessing the motive
Eeach time one disaster rallies against another;
An Ode To The Hills
© Archibald Lampman
AEons ago ye were,
Before the struggling changeful race of man
Earlier Poems : The Spirit Of Poetry
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind blows;
A Translation Of The CIV. Psalm To The Original Sense
© Sir Henry Wotton
My soul exalt the Lord with Hymns of praise:
O Lord my God, how boundless is thy might?
Whose Throne of State is cloath'd with glorious rays,
And round about hast rob'd thy self with light.
Who like a curtain hast the Heavens display'd,
And in the watry Roofs thy Chambers laid.
How I Consulted The Oracle Of The Goldfishes
© James Russell Lowell
What know we of the world immense
Beyond the narrow ring of sense?
The Three Singers To Young Blood
© George Meredith
Carols nature, counsel men.
Different notes as rook from wren
Hear we when our steps begin,
And the choice is cast within,
Where a robber raven's tale
Urges passion's nightingale.
On the Bill Which Was Passed in England For Regulating the Slave-Trade
© Helen Maria Williams
The hollow winds of night no more
In wild, unequal cadence pour,
