Nature poems
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Ode To Happiness
© James Russell Lowell
Spirit, that rarely comest now
And only to contrast my gloom,
The Sinner and The Spider
© John Bunyan
Not filthy as thyself in name or feature.
My name entailed is to my creation,
My features from the God of thy salvation.
The Conference
© Charles Churchill
Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree,
When they are told that grace was said by me;
The Pastime of Pleasure: Of dysposycyon the II. parte of rethoryke - (til line 3017)
© Stephen Hawes
How la bell pucell graunted Graunde Amoure loue / and of her dyspytous departyoge. Ca. xix.
2241 Your wo & payne / & all your languysshynge
2242 Contynually / ye shall not spende in vayne
2243 Sythen I am cause / of your grete mornynge
A Character
© William Wordsworth
I marvel how Nature could ever find space
For so many strange contrasts in one human face:
There's thought and no thought, and there's paleness and bloom
And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom.
Elegy VI
© Henry James Pye
Now has bright Sol fulfill'd his circling course,
Again to Taurus roll'd his burning car,
The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
© Thomas Hood
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,and with a broader sphere
The Choice of Valentines
© Thomas Nashe
Pardon sweete flower of matchless Poetrie,
And fairest bud the red rose euer bare ;
The Guest House
© John Le Gay Brereton
What imps are these that come with scowl and leer?
Black motes upon the mornings amber beam,
Ode II
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
While wounded men leaped on their feet to hear,
And dying men upraised their eyes to see
How on the conflict's lowering canopy,
Dawned the first rainbow hues of victory!
Hyperion. Book II
© John Keats
Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings
Hyperion slid into the rustled air,
A Captive Throstle
© Alfred Austin
Poor little mite with mottled breast,
Half-fledged, and fallen from the nest,
Sonnet 19: On Cupid's Bow
© Sir Philip Sidney
On Cupid's bow how are my heartstrings bent,
That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same?
When most I glory, then I feel most shame:
I willing run, yet while I run, repent.
Wilson
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The lowliest born of all the land,
He wrung from Fate's reluctant hand
The gifts which happier boyhood claims;
And, tasting on a thankless soil
The bitter bread of unpaid toil,
He fed his soul with noble aims.
Our Jack
© Henry Kendall
Twelve years ago our Jack was lost. All night,
Twelve years ago, the Spirit of the Storm
To Anne: Oh, Say Not, Sweet Anne
© George Gordon Byron
Oh, say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed
The heart which adores you should wish to dissever;
Such Fates were to me most unkind ones indeed,
To bear me from love and from beauty for ever.
To She Who Is Too Light-hearted
© Charles Baudelaire
Your head, your gesture, your air,
are lovely, like a lovely landscape:
laughters alive, in your face,
a fresh breeze in a clear atmosphere.
Sonnet 44: My Words, I Know Do Well
© Sir Philip Sidney
My words I know do well set forth my mind,
My mind bemoans his sense of inward smart;
Such smart may pity claim of any heart,
Her heart, sweet heart, is of no tiger's kind:
