Nature poems
/ page 87 of 287 /
The Rock-Tomb Of Bradore
© John Greenleaf Whittier
A DREAR and desolate shore!
Where no tree unfolds its leaves,
Nature and GodI neither knew
© Emily Dickinson
Nature and GodI neither knew
Yet Both so well knew me
They startled, like Executors
Of My identity.
The Branded Hand
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WELCOME home again, brave seaman! with thy thoughtful brow and gray,
And the old heroic spirit of our earlier, better day;
With that front of calm endurance, on whose steady nerve in vain
Pressed the iron of the prison, smote the fiery shafts of pain!
An Essay on Man: Epistle 1
© Alexander Pope
To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke
Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things
Lines On Hearing, Three Or Four Years Ago, That Constantinople Was Swallowed Up By An Earthquake;
© Amelia Opie
A Report, though false, at that time generally believed.
Hoar-Frost
© Madison Julius Cawein
The frail eidolons of all blossoms Spring,
Year after year, about the forest tossed,
Nature, For Nature's Sake
© Jean Ingelow
White as white butterflies that each one dons
Her face their wide white wings to shade withal,
Many moon-daisies throng the water-spring.
While couched in rising barley titlarks call,
And bees alit upon their martagons
Do hang a-murmuring, a-murmuring.
Loraine
© George Essex Evans
In her dark-ringed eyes shone the sad unrest
That spoke in the heave of her troubled breast,
And her face was white as the chiselled stone,
And her lips pressed madly against my own,
And her heart beat wildly against my heart,
And we strove to go, but we could not part.
Down The Lanes Of August
© Edgar Albert Guest
DOWN the lanes of Augustand the bees upon the wing,
All the world's in color now, and all the song birds sing;
Never reds will redder be, more golden be the gold,
Down the lanes of August, and the summer getting old.
The White Maiden And The Indian Girl
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Child of the Woods, bred in leafy dell,
See the palace home in which I dwell,
With its lofty walls and casements wide,
And objects of beauty on every side;
Now, tell me, dost thou not think it bliss
To dwell in a home as bright as this?
Dream-Valley
© Albert Durrant Watson
I KNOW a vale where the oriole swings
Her nest to the breeze and the sky,
A Man Perishing in the Snow: From Whence Reflections are Raised on the Miseries of Life.
© James Thomson
As thus the snows arise; and foul and fierce,
All winter drives along the darken'd air;
In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain
Disaster'd stands; sees other hills ascend,
Poetry Everywhere
© William Schwenck Gilbert
What time the poet hath hymned
The writhing maid, lithe-limbed,
Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,
How can he paint her woes,
Knowing, as well he knows,
That all can be set right with calomel?
To The Lord Chancellor
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest
Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm
Which rends our Mothers bosomPriestly Pest!
Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!
On Happiness
© James Thomson
Warm'd by the summer sun's meridian ray,
As underneath a spreading oak I lay
Contemplating the mighty load of woe,
In search of bliss that mortals undergo,
An Heroical Epistle of Hudibras to Sidrophel
© Samuel Butler
Ecce Iterum Crispinus. -
WELL! SIDROPHEL, though 'tis in vain
Of The Nature Of Things: Book IV - Part 05 - The Passion Of Love
© Lucretius
This craving 'tis that's Venus unto us:
From this, engender all the lures of love,
Bryant On His Birthday
© John Greenleaf Whittier
We praise not now the poet's art,
The rounded beauty of his song;
Who weighs him from his life apart
Must do his nobler nature wrong.
