Weather poems

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Will And I

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

I.
WE roam the hills together,
In the golden summer weather,
Will and I:

One Day In December

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

Every dog has his day.

Well, dear, do you remember,

Description Of A Lost Friend

© Caroline Norton

FROM THE MORNING POST.
LOST--near the 'Change in the city,
(I saw there a girl that seemed pretty)
'Joe Steel,' a short, cross-looking varlet,

The Wind And The Sea

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

I STOOD by the shore at the death of day,

As the sun sank flaming red;

And Theophile burnt in the cheek, and said:
Yea, could one see it, this were marvellous.
I pray you, at your coming to this house,
Give me some leaf of all those tree-branches;
Seeing how so sharp and white our weather is,
There is no green nor gracious red to see.

The Dream

© Sylvia Plath

Last night, he said, I slept well
except for two uncanny dreams
that came before the change of weather
when I rose and opened all
the shutters to let warm wind feather
with wet plumage through my rooms.

On A Bank As I Sate A Fishing: A Description Of The Spring

© Sir Henry Wotton

And now all Nature seem'd in love,

The lusty sap began to move;

Hawk And Buckle

© Robert Graves

Where is the landlord of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Master Straddler this hot summer weather?
He's along in the tap-room with broad cheeks a-chuckle,
And ten bold companions all drinking together.

Daniel at Breakfast

© Phyllis McGinley

Ashtaroth: A Dramatic Lyric

© Adam Lindsay Gordon

Orion: But an understanding tacit.
You have prospered much since the day we met;
You were then a landless knight;
You now have honour and wealth, and yet
I never can serve you right.

Rural Morning

© John Clare

And now, when toil and summer's in its prime,
In every vill, at morning's earliest time,
To early-risers many a Hodge is seen,
And many a Dob's heard clattering oer the green.

The Mahogany Tree

© William Makepeace Thackeray

Christmas is here:

Winds whistle shrill,

Car Showroom by Jonathan Holden: American Life in Poetry #161 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-20

© Ted Kooser

I may be a little sappy, but I think that almost everyone is doing the best he or she can, despite all sorts of obstacles. This poem by Jonathan Holden introduces us to a young car salesman, who is trying hard, perhaps too hard. Holden is the past poet laureate of Kansas and poet in residence at Kansas State University in Manhattan.

Car Showroom

Touch the Sleeping Strings Again

Touch the sleeping strings and
tell me, tell me whether,
Thence comes music sweet and low:
Did not we walk some shore together
Beyond the sea of Long Ago?

Ultima Thule: Maiden And The Weathercock

MAIDEN.
O weathercock on the village spire,
With your golden feathers all on fire,
Tell me, what can you see from your perch
Above there over the tower of the church?

Ruth

© Henry Lawson

Are the fields of my fancy less fair through a window thats narrowed and barred?
Are the morning stars dimmed by the glare of the gas-light that flares in the yard?
No! And what does it matter to me if to-morrow I sail from the land?
I am free, as I never was free! I exult in my loneliness grand!