Nature poems
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To The Memory Of The Right Honourable Lord Talbot, Late Chancellor Of Great Britain. Addressed To Hi
© James Thomson
While with the public, you, my Lord, lament
A friend and father lost; permit the muse,
Sonnet. The Human Seasons
© John Keats
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
Racine And Shakespeare
© John Kenyon
As one too long immured in courtly bower,
Such as Le Nôtre shaped, high-wrought and trim,
Naturesometimes sears a Sapling
© Emily Dickinson
Naturesometimes sears a Sapling
Sometimesscalps a Tree
Her Green People recollect it
When they do not die
To Virgil
© Alfred Tennyson
Roman Virgil, thou that singest
Ilion's lofty temples robed in fire,
Ilion falling, Rome arising,
wars, and filial faith, and Dido's pyre;
Thespis: Act I
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Jupiter, Aged Diety
Apollo, Aged Diety
Mars, Aged Diety
Diana, Aged Diety
Mercury
Leichhardt
© Henry Kendall
LORDLY harp, by lordly master wakened from majestic sleep,
Yet shall speak and yet shall sing the words which make the fathers weep!
To a Young Lady, on Her Birthday
© Samuel Johnson
This tributary verse receive, my fair,
Warm with an ardent lover's fondest prayer,
A Fact, And An Imagination, Or, Canute And Alfred, On The Seashore
© William Wordsworth
THE Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair,
Mustering a face of haughty sovereignty,
To aid a covert purpose, cried--"O ye
Approaching Waters of the deep, that share
The Letter of Cupid
© Thomas Hoccleve
Hir wordes spoken been so sighingly
And with so pitous cheere and contenance,
That every wight that meeneth trewely
Deemeth that they in herte han swich greuance.
They sayn so importable is hir penance
On Cutting Down The Thorn At Market-Hill
© Jonathan Swift
At Market-Hill, as well appears
By chronicle of ancient date,
There stood for many hundred years
A spacious thorn before the gate.
A Maid Who Died Old
© Madison Julius Cawein
Frail, shrunken face, so pinched and worn,
That life has carved with care and doubt!
So weary waiting, night and morn,
For that which never came about!
Pale lamp, so utterly forlorn,
In which God's light at last is out.
To Edward Dowden: On Receiving From Him A Copy Of "The Life Of Shelley"
© William Watson
First, ere I slake my hunger, let me thank
The giver of the feast. For feast it is,
Isabella; Or, The Pot Of Basil: A Story From Boccaccio
© John Keats
I.
Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
The Higher Brotherhood
© Madison Julius Cawein
To come in touch with mysteries
Of beauty idealizing Earth,
Go seek the hills, grown old with trees,
The old hills wise with death and birth.
