Famous Nature Poems

Famous Nature Poems

Poems on Nature

The power, ingenuity, and sheer beauty found in nature has always fascinated mankind. When we look at powerful ocean waves rolling in, we cannot help but feel small and powerless in comparison. Mighty trees in a vast forest inspire feelings of insignificance and awe. Animal mothers taking care of their young make us question the cruelty with which we sometimes treat one another. The truth is, nature can teach us many valuable lessons. It can also lead us to wonder, did this beautiful earth with all of its natural treasures come about by chance or was it created?

53 Famous Nature Poems About The Beauty And Brutality Of Nature

  1. 1. I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

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    "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" is a lyric poem that expresses deep feelings about the beauty of nature. William Wordsworth was a well-known poet of the Romantic era, which began at the beginning of the 1800s. The focus during the Romantic era was on people's feelings and their connectedness to nature. That was a drastic shift from the emphasis on science and reason of the Enlightenment era, which came before. "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" is one of Wordsworth's most famous poems. It was inspired by a journal entry his sister wrote recounting when the two of them went for a walk along the bay and saw a large number of daffodils.

    I wandered lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils;
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the milky way,
    They stretched in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced; but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company:
    I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.

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    Honestly! How lovely is this poem when read aloud. I can see the yellow heads of the daffodils doing their sprightly dance! And, when in the meditative state, I can feel them in my heart...

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  3. 2. Nothing Gold Can Stay

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    Robert Frost is one of the most famous poets from the 1900s. He never earned a formal college degree, but he did receive honorary degrees from more than 40 colleges and universities. This famous poem shows that everything in life is cyclical and that the beauty in nature only lasts for a short period of time. Even though life ends, there is new life waiting to come forth.

    Nature's first green is gold,
    Her hardest hue to hold.
    Her early leaf's a flower;
    But only so an hour.
    Then leaf subsides to leaf.
    So Eden sank to grief,
    So dawn goes down to day.
    Nothing gold can stay.

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  5. 3. Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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    This deceptively simple poem is by Robert Frost (1874 – 1963). He wrote it in 1922 in a few moments after being up the entire night writing a long and complicated poem. The poem uses an AABA rhyme scheme. The repetition of the last line emphasizes the profundity contained in the last stanza, a popular reading for funerals.

    Whose woods these are I think I know.   
    His house is in the village though;   
    He will not see me stopping here   
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

    My little horse must think it queer   
    To stop without a farmhouse near   
    Between the woods and frozen lake   
    The darkest evening of the year.   

    He gives his harness bells a shake   
    To ask if there is some mistake.   
    The only other sound’s the sweep   
    Of easy wind and downy flake.   

    The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
    But I have promises to keep,   
    And miles to go before I sleep,   
    And miles to go before I sleep.

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  6. 4. My November Guest

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    The landscape of New England influenced many of Robert Frost’s poems, which can be seen in “My November Guest.” In this poem, sorrow is personified as someone the speaker loved. While the speaker sees things one way, Sorrow sees them differently. She sees the beauty in autumn, while the poet cannot. We each see beauty in different things. Even in the midst of sorrow there can be something beautiful. In the midst of autumn, where leaves are dying, there is beauty in their changing colors.

    My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
    Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
    Are beautiful as days can be;
    She loves the bare, the withered tree;
    She walks the sodden pasture lane.

    Her pleasure will not let me stay.
    She talks and I am fain to list:
    She's glad the birds are gone away,
    She's glad her simple worsted grey
    Is silver now with clinging mist.

    The desolate, deserted trees,
    The faded earth, the heavy sky,
    The beauties she so truly sees,
    She thinks I have no eye for these,
    And vexes me for reason why.

    Not yesterday I learned to know
    The love of bare November days
    Before the coming of the snow,
    But it were vain to tell her so,
    And they are better for her praise.

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  7. 5. The Seed-Shop

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    One of the topics Muriel Stuart (1885-1967) liked to write about was nature. She even stopped writing poetry to pursue writing about gardening. In this poem, she shares about the hidden potential of seeds. In their current state, they look like lifeless stones, but an entire garden and forest rests inside of them when they are planted. The same could be said about people. When we don’t embrace our purpose and contribute to society, we are no better than unplanted seeds. But once we allow our gifts and talents to be used, we create beauty for others to enjoy.

    HERE in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
    Faded as crumbled stone and shifting sand,
    Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
    Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

    Dead that shall quicken at the voice of spring,
    Sleepers to wake beneath June’s tempest kiss;
    Though birds pass over, unremembering,
    And no bee find here roses that were his.

    In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
    A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
    That shall drink deeply at a century’s streams;
    These lilies shall make summer on my dust.

    Here in their safe and simple house of death,
    Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;
    Here I can stir a garden with my breath,
    And in my hand a forest lies asleep.

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  8. 6. The Tyger

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    William Blake became an apprentice to an engraver at a young age, which was an inspiration for many of his poems. The Tyger in this poem is a symbol of creation and the presence of both good and evil in this world. The Tyger is written in Quatrains (4 line stanzas) and follows an AABB rhyme scheme.

    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye
    Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

    In what distant deeps or skies
    Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
    On what wings dare he aspire?
    What the hand dare seize the fire?

    And what shoulder, and what art,
    Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
    And when thy heart began to beat,
    What dread hand? and what dread feet?

    What the hammer? what the chain?
    In what furnace was thy brain?
    What the anvil? what dread grasp
    Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

    When the stars threw down their spears,
    And watered heaven with their tears,
    Did he smile his work to see?
    Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye,
    Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

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  9. 7. A Light Exists In Spring

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    Emily Dickinson was a famous American poet who lived during the 1800s. In addition to writing, she also studied botany, which could have been an influence in her poems about nature. This poem is about the light that illuminates all that's around it during spring. While this poem is about nature, it has a strong religious undertone, showing there are things science is unable to fully explain.

    A Light exists in Spring
    Not present on the Year
    At any other period --
    When March is scarcely here

    A Color stands abroad
    On Solitary Fields
    That Science cannot overtake
    But Human Nature feels.

    It waits upon the Lawn,
    It shows the furthest Tree
    Upon the furthest Slope you know
    It almost speaks to you.

    Then as Horizons step
    Or Noons report away
    Without the Formula of sound
    It passes and we stay --

    A quality of loss
    Affecting our Content
    As Trade had suddenly encroached
    Upon a Sacrament.

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    The poem depicts supremacy of nature. Nature is beyond natural laws. It's the underlying truth that nature poets communicate to us through their writings.

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  10. 8. A Bird Came Down The Walk

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    A poem about birds from Emily Dickinson. Considered by many to be one of the best American Poets. What about this poem makes it a classic?

    A bird came down the walk:
    He did not know I saw;
    He bit an angle-worm in halves
    And ate the fellow, raw.

    And then he drank a dew
    From a convenient grass,
    And then hopped sidewise to the wall
    To let a beetle pass.

    He glanced with rapid eyes
    That hurried all abroad,--
    They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
    He stirred his velvet head

    Like one in danger; cautious,
    I offered him a crumb,
    And he unrolled his feathers
    And rowed him softer home

    Than oars divide the ocean,
    Too silver for a seam,
    Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
    Leap, plashless, as they swim.

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  11. 9. The Fish

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    This famous narrative poem transforms an ordinary moment into a gripping story about the moment when the Hunter meets the Hunted. The fisherwoman's catch of a tremendous fish takes an unexpected diversion when she takes the opportunity to observe it at close range. The life story of The Fish as told by its battle scars and beautiful fishiness gives the encounter a personal side and result in things taking an unexpected turn.

    I caught a tremendous fish
    and held him beside the boat
    half out of water, with my hook
    fast in a corner of his mouth.
    He didn’t fight.
    He hadn’t fought at all.
    He hung a grunting weight,
    battered and venerable
    and homely. Here and there
    his brown skin hung in strips
    like ancient wallpaper,
    and its pattern of darker brown
    was like wallpaper:
    shapes like full-blown roses
    stained and lost through age.
    He was speckled with barnacles,
    fine rosettes of lime,
    and infested
    with tiny white sea-lice,
    and underneath two or three
    rags of green weed hung down.
    While his gills were breathing in
    the terrible oxygen
    —the frightening gills,
    fresh and crisp with blood,
    that can cut so badly—
    I thought of the coarse white flesh
    packed in like feathers,
    the big bones and the little bones,
    the dramatic reds and blacks
    of his shiny entrails,
    and the pink swim-bladder
    like a big peony.
    I looked into his eyes
    which were far larger than mine
    but shallower, and yellowed,
    the irises backed and packed
    with tarnished tinfoil
    seen through the lenses
    of old scratched isinglass.
    They shifted a little, but not
    to return my stare.
    —It was more like the tipping
    of an object toward the light.
    I admired his sullen face,
    the mechanism of his jaw,
    and then I saw
    that from his lower lip
    —if you could call it a lip—
    grim, wet, and weaponlike,
    hung five old pieces of fish-line,
    or four and a wire leader
    with the swivel still attached,
    with all their five big hooks
    grown firmly in his mouth.
    A green line, frayed at the end
    where he broke it, two heavier lines,
    and a fine black thread
    still crimped from the strain and snap
    when it broke and he got away.
    Like medals with their ribbons
    frayed and wavering,
    a five-haired beard of wisdom
    trailing from his aching jaw.
    I stared and stared
    and victory filled up
    the little rented boat,
    from the pool of bilge
    where oil had spread a rainbow
    around the rusted engine
    to the bailer rusted orange,
    the sun-cracked thwarts,
    the oarlocks on their strings,
    the gunnels—until everything
    was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
    And I let the fish go.

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  12. 10. It's September

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    Edgar Guest (1881-1959) captures the breathtaking beauty of September and how the world is transformed with hues of gold, orange, red, and yellow. In many of his poems, he used everyday experiences to capture more significant thoughts on life. When reflecting on the end of life, we can see that it is comparable to September, full and ripe, a life well-lived.

    It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold,
    And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold;
    Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red
    And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at us from their bed;
    Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's little feet,
    And the dog now does his snoozing on the bright side of the street.

    It's September, and the cornstalks are as high as they will go,
    And the red cheeks of the apples everywhere begin to show;
    Now the supper's scarcely over ere the darkness settles down
    And the moon looms big and yellow at the edges of the town;
    Oh, it's good to see the children, when their little prayers are said,
    Duck beneath the patchwork covers when they tumble into bed.

    It's September, and a calmness and a sweetness seem to fall
    Over everything that's living, just as though it hears the call
    Of Old Winter, trudging slowly, with his pack of ice and snow,
    In the distance over yonder, and it somehow seems as though
    Every tiny little blossom wants to look its very best
    When the frost shall bite its petals and it droops away to rest.

    It's September! It's the fullness and the ripeness of the year;
    All the work of earth is finished, or the final tasks are near,
    But there is no doleful wailing; every living thing that grows,
    For the end that is approaching wears the finest garb it knows.
    And I pray that I may proudly hold my head up high and smile
    When I come to my September in the golden afterwhile.

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  13. 11. Sea Fever

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    As you read this poem about the beauty of sailing the ocean, imagine the smell of the salt air, the wind on your face and the movement of the waves as you sail toward your destiny.

    I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
    And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
    And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
    And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

    I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
    Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
    And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
    And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

    I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
    To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
    And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
    And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

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  14. 12. Winter Morning Poem

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    This famous poem by Ogden Nash uses descriptive language to show the beauty of snow. Winter is unlike any other season where snow blankets everything it touches. It transforms the land into a magical experience. Ogden Nash (1902-1971) was well-known and appreciated during his lifetime.

    Winter is the king of showmen,
    Turning tree stumps into snow men
    And houses into birthday cakes
    And spreading sugar over lakes.
    Smooth and clean and frosty white,
    The world looks good enough to bite.
    That's the season to be young,
    Catching snowflakes on your tongue!
    Snow is snowy when it's snowing.
    I'm sorry it's slushy when it's going.

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  15. 13. Snow-Flakes

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    Snow-Flakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is a beautiful description of the way snow falls from the sky and covers the landscape. The snowflakes are described as silent, soft, and slow, creating a sense of stillness and peace. The comparison between the way snowflakes take shape in the air and the way our thoughts take shape in our minds suggests a connection between the natural world and our inner world. The final stanza suggests that there is something deeply meaningful about the snowflakes and the way they reveal the secret of despair.

    Out of the bosom of the Air,
        Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
    Over the woodlands brown and bare,
        Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
            Silent, and soft, and slow
            Descends the snow.

    Even as our cloudy fancies take
        Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
    Even as the troubled heart doth make
        In the white countenance confession,
            The troubled sky reveals
            The grief it feels.

    This is the poem of the air,
        Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
    This is the secret of despair,
        Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
            Now whispered and revealed
            To wood and field.

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  16. 14. The Wind And The Leaves

    • By George Cooper

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    In "The Wind and the Leaves" by George Cooper (1840-1927), the wind's playful call beckons the leaves to embrace the changing season, marking the transition from vibrant summer to the chill of fall. The poem weaves personification and vivid imagery to give life to the leaves, as they respond to the wind's invitation with a colorful dance and songs. Amidst their joyful play, they bid farewell to their fellow creatures, embodying a sense of camaraderie and interconnectedness with nature. The poem captures the cyclical nature of life as the leaves eventually succumb to their winter slumber, covered by a blanket of snow, symbolizing the rhythm of renewal and rest in the natural world.

    "Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.
    "Come o'er the meadows with me, and play'
    Put on your dress of red and gold,—
    Summer is gone, and the days grow cold."

    Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
    Down they came fluttering, one and all;
    Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
    Singing the soft little songs they knew.

    "Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long;
    Little brook, sing us your farewell song,—
    Say you are sorry to see us go;
    Ah! you will miss us, right well we know."

    "Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold,
    Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
    Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade;
    Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"

    Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went;
    Winter had called them, and they were content.
    Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,
    The snow laid a coverlet over their heads.

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  17. 15. When April Comes

    • By Virna Sheard

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    In the poem "When April Comes" by Virna Sheard, the poet paints a vivid and enchanting picture of the arrival of April. Through the use of personification and imagery, the poem captures the essence of spring's arrival. The poet describes April with "softly shining eyes" and daffodils adorning her hair, symbolizing the renewal and beauty of the season. The arrival of April is depicted as a transformative time, as clouds dissipate and the skies clear. The poem celebrates the awakening of nature, with swallows swinging through the air and the joyful melodies of robins and bobolinks. April is portrayed as a rejuvenating force that breathes new life into the world, causing it to momentarily forget its weariness and age. Winter is depicted as a distant memory, with its bitter winds and frost belonging to the past. Overall, the poem captures the anticipation and joy associated with the arrival of April, signaling the arrival of spring and the rebirth of nature.

    When April comes with softly shining eyes,
    And daffodils bound in her wind-blown hair,
    Oh, she will coax all clouds from out the skies,
    And every day will bring some sweet surprise, --
    The swallows will come swinging through the air
    When April comes!

    When April comes with tender smile and tear,
    Dear dandelions will gild the common ways,
    And at the break of morning we will hear
    The piping of the robins crystal clear --
    While bobolinks will whistle through the days,
    When April comes!

    When April comes, the world so wise and old,
    Will half forget that it is worn and grey;
    Winter will seem but as a tale long told --
    Its bitter winds with all its frost and cold
    Will be the by-gone things of yesterday,
    When April comes!

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  18. 16. The Rain

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    In "The Rain" by W.H. Davies, the poet employs a range of poetic techniques to create a vivid and engaging picture of nature. Personification is also used throughout the poem, with the leaves given human qualities of drinking and being rich or poor. Imagery is another key technique used to convey the beauty of the rain, with the sound of leaves drinking described as a "sweet noise." Finally, symbolism is used to underscore the interconnectedness of nature, with the rain and the sun serving as symbols of renewal and transformation. These techniques come together to create a beautiful poem that celebrates the wonders of the nature.

    I hear leaves drinking rain;
    I hear rich leaves on top
    Giving the poor beneath
    Drop after drop;
    ’Tis a sweet noise to hear
    These green leaves drinking near.

    And when the Sun comes out,
    After this Rain shall stop,
    A wondrous Light will fill
    Each dark, round drop;
    I hope the Sun shines bright;
    ’Twill be a lovely sight.

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  19. 17. The Brook

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    The Industrial Revolution took place in Great Britain during the late 1700s and early 1800s. As cities grew, living conditions deteriorated for the poor and working class. Factories and mass production were beneficial for some but not everyone. This poem stands in contrast of new manufacturing processes of that time period by focusing on nature. The narrator in this poem, the brook, is personified. The brook shows persistence by continuing to flow, no matter what obstacles get in its way. The repeated lines, “For men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever,” showcase that. Famous poet Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) was named Poet Laureate in Great Britain and Ireland.

    I come from haunts of coot and hern,
       I make a sudden sally
    And sparkle out among the fern,
       To bicker down a valley.

    By thirty hills I hurry down,
       Or slip between the ridges,
    By twenty thorpes, a little town,
       And half a hundred bridges.

    Till last by Philip's farm I flow
       To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
       But I go on for ever.

    I chatter over stony ways,
       In little sharps and trebles,
    I bubble into eddying bays,
       I babble on the pebbles.

    With many a curve my banks I fret
       By many a field and fallow,
    And many a fairy foreland set
       With willow-weed and mallow.

    I chatter, chatter, as I flow
       To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
       But I go on for ever.

    I wind about, and in and out,
       With here a blossom sailing,
    And here and there a lusty trout,
       And here and there a grayling,

    And here and there a foamy flake
       Upon me, as I travel
    With many a silvery waterbreak
       Above the golden gravel,

    And draw them all along, and flow
       To join the brimming river
    For men may come and men may go,
       But I go on for ever.

    I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
       I slide by hazel covers;
    I move the sweet forget-me-nots
       That grow for happy lovers.

    I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
       Among my skimming swallows;
    I make the netted sunbeam dance
       Against my sandy shallows.

    I murmur under moon and stars
       In brambly wildernesses;
    I linger by my shingly bars;
       I loiter round my cresses;

    And out again I curve and flow
       To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
       But I go on for ever.

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  20. 18. Pebbles

    • By Frank Dempster Sherman

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    "Pebbles" by Frank Dempster Sherman (1860 -1916) celebrates the beauty and diversity of pebbles found in a clear brook. Each pebble reflects the sunlight, displaying vibrant colors reminiscent of precious gemstones. The poem attributes the craftsmanship to the patient work of water, which tirelessly polishes the pebbles until they shine. The brook's song conveys the message that patience can overcome any obstacle.

    Out of a pellucid brook
    Pebbles round and smooth I took :
    Like a jewel, every one
    Caught a color from the sun, —
    Ruby red and sapphire blue,
    Emerald and onyx too,
    Diamond and amethyst, —
    Not a precious stone I missed :
    Gems I held from every land
    In the hollow of my hand.
    Workman Water these had made ;
    Patiently through sun and shade,
    With the ripples of the rill
    He had polished them until,
    Smooth, symmetrical and bright,
    Each one sparkling in the light
    Showed within its burning heart
    All the lapidary’s art ;
    And the brook seemed thus to sing :
    Patience conquers everything !

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  21. 19. The End Of The Summer

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    Ella Wheeler Wilcox's "The End of the Summer" beautifully portrays the transition from summer to autumn through vivid imagery and personification. The birds celebrate the arrival of cooler weather, while nature's secrets unfold and the landscape transforms with vibrant colors. As the season progresses, the woods lose their glory, and the birds prepare to migrate southward. The poem concludes with a longing for the lively city. Wilcox's use of imagery creates a poignant reflection on the changing seasons and the fleeting beauty of nature.

    The birds laugh loud and long together
        When Fashion's followers speed away
    At the first cool breath of autumn weather.
        Why, this is the time, cry the birds, to stay!
    When the deep calm sea and the deep sky over
        Both look their passion through sun-kissed space,
    As a blue-eyed maid and her blue-eyed lover
        Might each gaze into the other's face.

    Oh! this is the time when careful spying
        Discovers the secrets Nature knows.
    You find when the butterflies plan for flying
        (Before the thrush or the blackbird goes),
    You see some day by the water's edges
        A brilliant border of red and black;
    And then off over the hills and hedges
        It flutters away on the summer's track.

    The shy little sumacs, in lonely places,
        Bowed all summer with dust and heat,
    Like clean-clad children with rain-washed faces,
        Are dressed in scarlet from head to feet.
    And never a flower had the boastful summer,
        In all the blossoms that decked her sod,
    So royal hued as that later comer
        The purple chum of the goldenrod.

    Some chill grey dawn you note with grieving
        That the King of Autumn is on his way.
    You see, with a sorrowful, slow believing,
        How the wanton woods have gone astray,
    They wear the stain of bold caresses,
        Of riotous revels with old King Frost;
    They dazzle all eyes with their gorgeous dresses,
        Nor care that their green young leaves are lost.

    A wet wind blows from the East one morning,
        The wood's gay garments looked draggled out.
    You hear a sound, and your heart takes warning―
        The birds are planning their winter route.
    They wheel and settle and scold and wrangle,
        Their tempers are ruffled, their voices loud;
    Then whirr and away in a feathered tangle,
        To fade in the south like a passing cloud.

                Envoi
    A songless wood stripped bare of glory―
        A sodden moor that is black and brown;
    The year has finished its last love-story:
        Oh! let us away to the gay bright town.

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  22. 20. Spring Fever

    • By Charles A. Heath

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    In "Spring Fever" by Charles A. Heath, the poem captures the joy and anticipation of the arrival of spring. The speaker describes various signs of the season, such as the longing for nature, the return of robins and frogs, and the migration of ducks and geese. The poem also portrays the practical activities associated with spring, like opening windows, cleaning and fixing things, and engaging in outdoor pursuits like fishing. Through lively imagery and a playful tone, the poem conveys the sense of renewal and excitement that comes with the arrival of spring. It celebrates the awakening of nature and the eager anticipation of enjoying the outdoors after the long winter months.

    When a feller feels a longing
        For the medder in his breast.
    When the robins north are thronging,
        Where they haste to build their nest.
    When the frogs peep in the puddle
        Where I love to hear them sing,
    Then my brain is in a muddle,
        For I know it's really spring.

    When the double windows smother
        Us until we want more air;
    When a protest comes and mother
        Can't endure them longer there;
    When we ope the cellar shutters,
        Kitchen doors are on the swing,
    Clean the cisterns, fix the gutters―
        Then I know its truly spring.

    When the wild ducks and geese are going
        Northward, "dragging" as they fly;
    When the streams are overflowing,
        And a rainbow gilds the sky;
    When the plowman turns the stubble
        Where the bluebirds sweetly sing,
    When comes carpet-beating trouble,
        Then I'm confident it's spring.

    When the jack-torch men are spearing
        Silver suckers in the brook,
    And the angleworms appearing.
        Seem quite anxious for my hook;
    When the mellow sunlights beckon
        Till the mill wheel starts to sing,
    Then's the time the fish, I reckon,
        'Spect to see me―Come! It's spring!

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