Nature poems
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Shakespeare's Sonnets: O thou my lovely boy, who in thy pow'r
© William Shakespeare
O thou my lovely boy, who in thy pow'rDost hold time's fickle glass, his fickle hour,Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st,Thy lover's with'ring, as thy sweet self grow'st,If nature (sov'reign mistress over wrack)As thou go'st onwards still will pluck thee back,She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skillMay time disgrace, and wretched minute kill
Shakespeare's Sonnets: O never say that I was false of heart
© William Shakespeare
O never say that I was false of heart,Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
© 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
Shakespeare's Sonnets: In the old age black was not counted fair
© William Shakespeare
In the old age black was not counted fair,Or if it were it bore not beauty's name,But now is black, beauty's successive heir,And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame,For since each hand hath put on nature's pow'r,Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bow'r,But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace
Shakespeare's Sonnets: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
© William Shakespeare
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'stIn one of thine, from that which thou depart'st,And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'stThou may'st call thine, when thou from youth convert'st;Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase,Without this, folly, age, and cold decay;If all were minded so, the times should cease,And threescore year would make the world away:Let those whom nature hath not made for store,Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish;Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the more,Which bount'ous gift thou should'st in bounty cherish
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Ah, wherefore with infection should he live
© William Shakespeare
Ah, wherefore with infection should he liveAnd with his presence grace impietyThat sin by him advantage should achieveAnd lace it self with his society?Why should false painting imitate his cheekAnd steal dead seeing of his living hue?Why should poor beauty indirectly seekRoses of shadow since his rose is true?Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is,Begger'd of blood to blush through lively veins,For she hath no exchequer now but his,And proud of many, lives upon his gains? O him she stores, to show what wealth she had, In days long since, before these last so bad
Romeo and Juliet (excerpts): The earth that’s Nature’s mother is her tomb
© William Shakespeare
The earth that's Nature's mother is her tomb;What is her burying grave, that is her womb;And from her womb children of divers kindWe sucking on her natural bosom find:Many for many virtues excellent,None but for some, and yet all different
Richard II (excerpts): This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle
© William Shakespeare
This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,This other Eden, demi-paradise,This fortress built by Nature for her selfAgainst infection and the hand of war,This happy breed of men, this little world,This precious stone set in a silver seaWhich serves it in the office of a wallOr as a moat defensive to a house,Against the envy of less happier lands,This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,Feared by their breed and famous for their birth,Renownèd for their deeds as far from homeFor Christian service and true chivalryAs is the sepulchre in stubborn JewryOf the world's ransom, blessèd Mary's son
The Merchant of Venice (excerpts): How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank
© William Shakespeare
Lorenzo: How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank; Here will we sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears
All's Well that Ends Well (excerpts): Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie
© William Shakespeare
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,Which we ascribe to heaven
The Mirror for Magistrates: The Induction
© Thomas Sackville
The wrathful winter, 'proaching on apace,With blustering blasts had all ybar'd the treen,And old Saturnus, with his frosty face,With chilling cold had pierc'd the tender green;The mantles rent, wherein enwrapped been The gladsome groves that now lay overthrown, The tapets torn, and every bloom down blown
There is Nothing Like a Dame—
© Rowley Rosemarie
There may be nothing like me, but I assure youthe world would have gone to hell but for organised sex-if boys and girls were left to nature's provenance,a person like me would be nowhere at all.
A Prayer for Yeats's Son
© Rowley Rosemarie
Once more the mob is howling and half hidUnder the cupola of the dustbin lidMy child screams on: there is no obstacleSave Paul's edict and the seven bare hillsWhereby the television, and unrestBred in the church for centuries, can be stayedAnd for an hour I have walked and prayedBecause there is no room for my kind
Flight into Reality
© Rowley Rosemarie
Dedicated to the memory of my best friend Georgina, (1942-74)and to her husband Alex Burns and their childrenNulles laides amours ne belles prison -Lord Herbert of Cherbury
Le Dormeur du val
© Arthur Rimbaud
C'est un trou de verdure où chante une rivièreAccrochant follement aux herbes des haillonsD'argent; où le soleil, de la montagne fière,Luit: c'est un petit val qui mousse de rayons
Iris Holden, District Nurse
© Reibetanz John
`Love's mysteries in souls do grow,But yet the body is his book.'
A Chest of Angels
© Reibetanz John
'I have always felt that desolation,that hell itself, is most powerfully expressedin an uninhabited natural landscapeat its bleakest.' - Anthony Hecht
