Famous Nature Poems - Page 2

21 - 40 of 57 Poems

  1. 21. The Music Of The Trees

    • By Charles A. Heath

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    "The Music of the Trees" by Charles A. Heath celebrates the captivating symphony created by the rustling leaves in the forest. It portrays the trees as a musical band, with the wind as the conductor, orchestrating a composition that soothes and comforts. The poem emphasizes the accessibility and beauty of nature's melodies, as even a child can appreciate their meaning. The sounds of the rustling leaves serve as a source of solace and escape, transporting listeners from the troubles of the world. The poem invites readers to pause, listen, and find joy in the harmonies of the natural world, reminding us of the restorative power of nature's music.

    How I love to hear the rustle of the leaves upon the trees
    When the foliage of summer is a moving in the breeze
    When the oak and beech and maple are a tuning up the air
    As they hear the quaking aspen sending signals everywhere.

    The deciduous forest people are a music making band
    With their symphonies so simple that a child can understand
    For there's meaning in their rhythm and a pleasure 'mong the trees
    When the wind is blowing through them and a stirring all the leaves.

    There's an overture in whispers which is soothing to the ear
    Then a chorus full of comfort just a chasing out your fear
    As the louder it is sounding and the louder yet again
    Till at last are joys abounding when it falls in sweet refrain.

    Yes, it brings you heaps of solace when the wind is blowing soft
    In a lullaby of nature which will bear you way aloft
    Till you leave this world of trouble with its fretting and its care
    As you listen to the rustle of the leaves a playing there.

    O, I love to stop and hearken to the music of the trees
    As the wind is soughing through them or a playing with the leaves
    There's a harmony that holds you in the noises of the wood
    Where I never tire of listening for it does a fellow good.

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  3. 22. 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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  5. 23. February Twilight

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    Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) became a famous poet during her lifetime. In “February Twilight,” she captures the beauty and peacefulness of standing alone in nature.

    I stood beside a hill
    Smooth with new-laid snow,
    A single star looked out
    From the cold evening glow.

    There was no other creature
    That saw what I could see—
    I stood and watched the evening star
    As long as it watched me.

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  6. 24. God The Artist

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    Angela Morgan was an American writer who formed a musical quartet with her three sisters, and her brother was their manager. This was one way she earned a living. In this poem, the narrator reflects on the marvels of God. How did He come up with all the ideas and intricacies we see in nature?

    God, when you thought of a pine tree,
    How did you think of a star?
    How did you dream of the Milky Way
    To guide us from afar.
    How did you think of a clean brown pool
    Where flecks of shadows are?

    God, when you thought of a cobweb,
    How did you think of dew?
    How did you know a spider's house
    Had shingles bright and new?
    How did you know the human folk
    Would love them like they do?

    God, when you patterned a bird song,
    Flung on a silver string,
    How did you know the ecstasy
    That crystal call would bring?
    How did you think of a bubbling throat
    And a darling speckled wing?

    God, when you chiseled a raindrop,
    How did you think of a stem,
    Bearing a lovely satin leaf
    To hold the tiny gem?
    How did you know a million drops
    Would deck the morning's hem?

    Why did you mate the moonlit night
    With the honeysuckle vines?
    How did you know Madeira bloom
    Distilled ecstatic wines?
    How did you weave the velvet disk
    Where tangled perfumes are?
    God, when you thought of a pine tree,
    How did you think of a star?

    God The Artist By Angela Morgan

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  7. 25. The Golden Sunset

    • By Samuel Longfellow

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    The poet paints a breathtaking picture of a transcendent moment where earth and heaven seem to converge. Through vivid imagery and gentle rhythms, they explore the seamless blending of the natural world and the spiritual realm, inviting readers to contemplate the beauty and mystery of existence

    The golden sea its mirror spreads
        Beneath the golden skies,
    And but a narrow strip between
        Of earth and shadow lies.

    The cloud-like cliffs, the cliff-like clouds,
        Dissolved in glory, float,
    And midway of the radiant floods
        Hangs silently the boat.

    The sea is but another sky,
        The sky a sea as well,
    And which is earth and which the heavens
        The eye can scarcely tell.

    So when for me life's latest hour
        Soft passes to its end,
    May glory, born of earth and heaven,
        The earth and heaven blend.

    Flooded with light the spirits float,
        With silent rapture glow,
    Till where earth ends and heaven begins
        The soul shall scarcely know.

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  8. 26. November

    • By Alice Cary

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    In "November" by Alice Cary (1820-1871) , the poet uses vivid imagery and personification to convey a message of hope and resilience. The fading leaves, rough winds, and silent birds symbolize the onset of winter and the hardships it brings. However, the poet reassures the child that beneath the cold and darkness, the roots of the bright red roses remain alive in the snow, symbolizing the persistence of beauty and life even in difficult times. The poem employs repetition, such as the phrase "let me tell you, my child," to emphasize the message and create a sense of guidance and reassurance. The contrast between the current bleakness and the anticipated return of spring further reinforces the theme of cyclical renewal and the inevitability of better times. Overall, the poem encourages resilience and optimism in the face of adversity.

    The leaves are fading and falling,
       The winds are rough and wild,
    The birds have ceased their calling,
       But let me tell, you my child,

    Though day by day, as it closes,
       Doth darker and colder grow,
    The roots of the bright red roses
       Will keep alive in the snow.

    And when the Winter is over,
       The boughs will get new leaves,
    The quail come back to the clover,
       And the swallow back to the eaves.

    The robin will wear on his bosom
       A vest that is bright and new,
    And the loveliest way-side blossom
      Will shine with the sun and dew.

    The leaves to-day are whirling,
       The brooks are all dry and dumb,
    But let me tell, you my darling,
       The Spring will be sure to come.

    There must be rough, cold weather,
       And winds and rains so wild;
    Not all good things together
       Come to us here, my child.

    So, when some dear joy loses
       Its beauteous summer glow,
    Think how the roots of the roses
       Are kept alive in the snow.

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  9. 27. Peace

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    Being immersed in nature brings about a peace within a person. Everything in nature has been carefully and meticulously created, leaving us breathless when it’s enjoyed. The world revolves in a peaceful manner; it’s people who’ve created the chaos. Humans are so busy with many different things that we forget to slow down and enjoy the peace of nature.

    THE steadfast coursing of the stars,
    The waves that ripple to the shore,
    The vigorous trees which year by year
    Spread upwards more and more;

    The jewel forming in the mine,
    The snow that falls so soft and light,
    The rising and the setting sun,
    The growing glooms of night;

    All natural things both live and move
    In natural peace that is their own;
    Only in our disordered life
    Almost is she unknown.

    She is not rest, nor sleep, nor death;
    Order and motion ever stand
    To carry out her firm behests
    As guards at her right hand.

    And something of her living force
    Fashions the lips when Christians say
    To Him Whose strength sustains the world,
    "Give us Thy Peace, we pray!"

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  10. 28. Winter Woods

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    "Winter Woods" by Eleanor Hammond is a vivid poem that paints a powerful image of the winter landscape. Through personification, the poet compares the winter woods to an elderly man, using metaphors to convey its strength and resilience. The description of the wood's "gnarled arms" and "old head" creates a tangible image of nature's endurance against the harshness of winter. The poem captures the essence of nature's tenacity and the beauty of its wintry facade.

    The winter wood is like a strong old man,
    Grizzled, rugged, and gray,
    With long white locks tattered by many storms.
    He lifts gnarled arms defiant of the blasts,
    And rears his old head proudly
    Under the menace of the winter sky.

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  11. 29. There Is Another Sky

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    This poem about finding a beautiful garden is one of Emily Dickinson's most well known poems. The precise meaning of the poem is a matter of opinion. One possibility is that she is pointing out that a person may be disappointed in his quest to experience beauty in the world. However, when we look inside ourselves and one another, we may find a flourishing beautiful garden of delights!

    There is another sky,
    Ever serene and fair,
    And there is another sunshine,
    Though it be darkness there;
    Never mind faded forests, Austin,
    Never mind silent fields -
    Here is a little forest,
    Whose leaf is ever green;
    Here is a brighter garden,
    Where not a frost has been;
    In its unfading flowers
    I hear the bright bee hum:
    Prithee, my brother,
    Into my garden come!

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  12. 30. The Way Through The Woods

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    Joseph Rudyard Kipling (1865 - 1936) was an short-story writer, poet, and novelist. In 1907 Kipling was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. Among his most famous works are The Jungle Book and the poem "If."

    THEY shut the road through the woods
      Seventy years ago.
    Weather and rain have undone it again,
      And now you would never know
    There was once a path through the woods        
      Before they planted the trees:
    It is underneath the coppice and heath,
      And the thin anemones.
      Only the keeper sees
    That, where the ring-dove broods        
      And the badgers roll at ease,
    There was once a road through the woods.

    Yet, if you enter the woods
      Of a summer evening late,
    When the night-air cools on the trout-ring’d pools        
      Where the otter whistles his mate
    (They fear not men in the woods
      Because they see so few),
    You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet
      And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
      Steadily cantering through
    The misty solitudes,
      As though they perfectly knew
    The old lost road through the woods ...
    But there is no road through the woods.

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  13. 31. 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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  14. 32. 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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  15. 33. To Autumn

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    John Keats was a British Romantic Poem who only lived 25 short years, from 1795-1821. "To Autumn" is the final work in a group of poems that is referred to as Keats' 1819 Odes. He was inspired to write this poem after going on a walk on an autumn evening near Winchester. He wrote it on September 19, 1819, and it was published in 1820, a little more than a year before he succumbed to tuberculosis. The poem shows the progression through the autumn season, from fruitfulness, to labor, and ultimately to its decline. It also has a strong sense of imagery and uses personification.

    Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,  
    Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
    Conspiring with him how to load and bless  
    With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
    To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,  
    And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;      
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells  
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
    And still more, later flowers for the bees,
    Until they think warm days will never cease,      
    For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

    Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?  
    Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
    Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,  
    Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
    Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,  
    Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook      
    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
    And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep  
    Steady thy laden head across a brook;  
    Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,      
    Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

    Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?  
    Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
    While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,  
    And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
    Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn  
    Among the river sallows, borne aloft      
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
    And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;  
    Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft  
    The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;      
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

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  16. 34. The Eagle

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    In this short poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), he captures the majesty of an eagle hunting from the top of a cliff. This descriptive poem is comprised of tercets (three-line stanzas).

    He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
    Close to the sun in lonely lands,
    Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

    The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
    He watches from his mountain walls,
    And like a thunderbolt he falls.

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  17. 35. Fog

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    “Fog” was part of Carl Sandburg’s first poetry collection, Chicago Poems, published in 1916. Sandburg wrote simply and was known to use the “language of the people.” This poem was no different. He used simple imagery, personification and a metaphor to compare fog to the movement of a cat. Sandburg was inspired to write this poem when he saw the fog roll in to the Chicago harbor.

    The fog comes
    on little cat feet.

    It sits looking
    over harbor and city
    on silent haunches
    and then moves on.

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  18. 36. Desert Places

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    Robert Frost (1874-1963) spent many years living in New England, and a lot of his poetry was inspired by the landscape around him. In “Desert Places,” he uses the emptiness created by a snowstorm and the darkness of night to compare to depression and emotional turmoil. The loneliness of nature is nothing compared to the loneliness one experiences from their own darkness and isolation. Robert Frost had his own bouts with depression.

    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 woods around it have it--it is theirs.
    All animals are smothered in their lairs.
    I am too absent-spirited to count;
    The loneliness includes me unawares.

    And lonely as it is that loneliness
    Will be more lonely ere it will be less--
    A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
    With no expression, nothing to express.

    They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
    Between stars--on stars where no human race is.
    I have it in me so much nearer home
    To scare myself with my own desert places.

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  19. 37. A Minor Bird

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    When a person is in a depressed mood even the beautiful song of a bird is grating. Of course, after that moment of irritation, one realizes the problem is not with the bird but with you.

    I have wished a bird would fly away,
    And not sing by my house all day;

    Have clapped my hands at him from the door
    When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

    The fault must partly have been in me.
    The bird was not to blame for his key.

    And of course there must be something wrong
    In wanting to silence any song.

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  20. 38. Vision

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    Sometimes it’s hard to see past what is right in front of us in order to see the beauty around us. It can be easy to allow circumstances to cloud our view. In this poem, mist and clouds fill the valley, preventing the people living there from seeing the beauty of the surrounding mountains.

    I came to the mountains for beauty
    And I find here the toiling folk,
    On sparse little farms in the valleys,
    Wearing their days like a yoke.

    White clouds fill the valleys at morning,
    They are round as great billows at sea,
    And roll themselves up to the hill-tops
    Still round as great billows can be.

    The mists fill the valleys at evening,
    They are blue as the smoke in the fall,
    And spread all the hills with a tenuous scarf
    That touches the hills not at all.

    These lone folk have looked on them daily,
    Yet I see in their faces no light.
    Oh, how can I show them the mountains
    That are round them by day and by night?

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  21. 39. My Heart's In The Highlands

    • By Robert Burns

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    "My Heart's in the Highlands" by Robert Burns is a heartfelt expression of the speaker's deep yearning for his native Scotland. Through vivid imagery, Burns paints a picture of the rugged beauty and untamed landscapes of the Scottish Highlands. Despite being physically distant from his homeland, the speaker's heart remains firmly rooted in its soil, symbolizing his enduring connection and sense of belonging. The poem resonates with themes of homesickness and nostalgia, evoking a universal longing for a beloved place. With its emotive language and heartfelt sentiment, "My Heart's in the Highlands" continues to captivate readers with its portrayal of love for the land and the enduring power of home.

    Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
    The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
    Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
    The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

    My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
    My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
    Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
    My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

    Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow,
    Farewell to the straths and green vallies below;
    Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
    Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

    My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
    My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
    Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
    My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

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  22. 40. June In Maine

    • By Hannah Augusta Moore

    Famous Poem

    "June in Maine" by Hannah Augusta Moore is a vibrant and sensory poem that celebrates the beauty of summer. Through vivid imagery, repetition, personification, and alliteration, the poem conveys the enchanting atmosphere of June in Maine and the irresistible allure of nature's embrace. The poem employs vivid imagery, musical language, and a joyful tone to convey the wonder of June in Maine.

    Beautiful, beautiful summer!
        Odorous, exquisite June!
    All the sweet roses in blossom,
        All the sweet birdies in tune.

    Dew on the meadows at sunset;
        Gems on the meadows at morn;
    Melody hushing the evening;
        Melody greeting the dawn.

    All the dim aisles of the forest
        Ringing and thrilling with song;
    Music—a flood-tide of music—
        Poured the green valleys along.

    Rapturous creatures of beauty.
        Winging their way through the sky,
    Heavenward warble their praises—
        Mount our thanksgivings as high?

    Lo! when a bird is delighted,
        His ecstacy prompts him to soar;
    The greater, the fuller his rapture,
        His songs of thanksgiving the more.

    See how the winds from the mountains
        Sweep over meadows most fair;
    The green fields are tossed like the ocean,
        Are shadowed by clouds in the air.

    For now fleecy shadows are chasing
        The sunshine from woodland and vale,
    As white clouds come gathering slowly,
        Blown up by the sweet-scented gale

    Birds and the gales and the flowers
        Call us from study away,
    Out to the fields where the mowers
        Soon will be making the hay.

    Buttercups, daisies, and clover,
        Roses, sweet-briar, and fern,
    Mingle their breath on the breezes—
        Who from such wooing could turn?

    Out! to the heath and the mountain,
        Where mid the fern and the brake,
    Under the pines and the spruces,
        Fragrant the bower we will make.

    Ravishing voices of Nature,
        Ye conquer—and never too soon—
    We yield to thy luscious embraces,
        Thou odorous, exquisite June!

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