Weather poems
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Strange Meetings
© Harold Monro
A FLOWER is looking through the
ground,
Blinking at the April weather ;
Now a child has seen the flower :
Now they go and play together.
To the Clerk of the Weather
© Jessie Pope
Dear Sir, we've had enough.
Do you forget, I think you do, perhaps,
Our temperate position on the maps?
Daily we mourn the collar's swift collapse,
The limp and wrinkled cuff.
The New Vestments
© Edward Lear
There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess,
Who invented a purely original dress;
And when it was perfectly made and complete,
He opened the door, and walked into the street.
The Golden Yesterday
© Roderic Quinn
AFTER a spell of chill, grey weather,
(Green, O green, are the feet of Spring!)
The heaven is here of flower and feather,
Of wild red blossom and flashing wing.
As On A Holiday
© Friedrich Hölderlin
As on a holiday, when a farmer
Goes out to look at his fields, in the morning,
'The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 5
© Publius Vergilius Maro
MEANTIME the Trojan cuts his watry way,
Fixd on his voyage, thro the curling sea;
The Braemar Road
© Nina Murdoch
The road that leads to Braemar winds ever in and out.
It wanders here and dawdles there, and trips and turns about
Weather Of The Soul
© Bliss William Carman
THERE is a world of being
We range from pole to pole,
Through seasons of the spirit
And weather of the soul.
Sonnet To Harriet St. Leger
© Frances Anne Kemble
Whene'er I recollect the happy time
When you and I held converse dear together,
The Grief Of Love
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Love, I am sick for thee, sick with an absolute grief,
Sick with the thought of thy eyes and lips and bosom.
All the beauty I saw, I see to my hurt revealed.
All that I felt I feel to--day for my pain and sorrow.
The Adirondacs
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Wise and polite,--and if I drew
Their several portraits, you would own
Chaucer had no such worthy crew,
Nor Boccace in Decameron.
Kismet
© Jean Ingelow
Into the rock the road is cut full deep,
At its low ledges village children play,
From its high rifts fountains of leafage weep,
And silvery birches sway.
Spinster
© Sylvia Plath
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the bird's irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
At One Again
© Jean Ingelow
Two angry men-in heat they sever,
And one goes home by a harvest field:-
"Hope's nought," quoth he, "and vain endeavor;
I said and say it, I will not yield!
From The Venetian Of Buratti
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Pleasant were it, Nina mine!
Could our Hearts, by fairy powers,
Renovate their life divine,
Like the trees and herbs and flowers.
Songs with Preludes: Wedlock
© Jean Ingelow
The sun was streaming in: I woke, and said,
“Where is my wife,—that has been made my wife
Only this year?” The casement stood ajar:
I did but lift my head: The pear-tree dropped,
The great white pear-tree dropped with dew from leaves
And blossom, under heavens of happy blue.
