Who Has Seen The Wind?
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
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?
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
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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;
My mind lets go a thousand things
Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,
And yet recalls the very hour--
'T was noon by yonder village tower,
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The sky is gray as gray may be,
There is no bird upon the bough,
There is no leaf on vine or tree.
O gift of God! O perfect day:
Whereon shall no man work, but play;
Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be!
I stood beside a hill
Smooth with new-laid snow,
A single star looked out
From the cold evening glow.
It gives me a certain joy to be in a place in the forest or a shore or anywhere in nature and imagine that I'm the only person who has ever been in that exact spot. As a young boy, I would...
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Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our feet;
Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
Our shadows danced,
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
This poem touched my heart as no other poem has. I love nature and most poems don't interest me. When I can, I am outside in nature and when I have to go inside, I fall just like the Eagle at...
Winter is the king of showmen,
Turning tree stumps into snow men
And houses into birthday cakes
And spreading sugar over lakes.
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The time was 1958, the school Oak Park River Forest High, in a western suburb west of Chicago. The class was English Literature, and the teacher was Mildred Linden. After Christmas break, we...