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?

68 Famous Nature Poems About The Beauty And Brutality Of Nature

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1. Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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.

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- By Robert Frost
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.

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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I was all of 16 years old (1958) at Oak Park High. We finished subjugating and conjugating at the end of our sophomore year. Finally I could put that dangling participle to rest and move on...

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2. Sea Fever

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.

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- By John Masefield
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, 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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My grandmother lived on the Gulf Coast on a bay, and I visited her throughout my childhood, from my home in the southwest desert. I've lived years now from any coast and found this poem...

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3. Peace

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.

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- By Bessie Rayner Parkes
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 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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A beautiful and inspired poem about a sometimes elusive quality that we all so much need to permeate our hearts. Maybe it has something to do with understanding and being understood and...

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4. I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

"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.

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- By William Wordsworth
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;

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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5. The Brook

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.

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

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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I was read poetry to my mother born 1929 in faraway Colombo, Sri Lanka. She loved this poem, and I remember her animated voice bringing the words hidden in the babbling brook to life and the...

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6. February Twilight

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.

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

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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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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7. There Is Another Sky

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!

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- By Emily Dickinson
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;

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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My mother, Joyce, loves her garden, which she made and made beautiful; and her other garden is the seeds of positivity, love, and joy that she has sown throughout her life. Joyce is 84 now...

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8. The Way Through The Woods

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."

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- By Rudyard Kipling
THEY shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know

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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I am a born nature lover. I have always been inspired by its grace and beauty. Currently I'm trying to make my own poem diary containing all my favourite poems, most of which are based on...

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9. A Light Exists In Spring

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.

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

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. A Bird Came Down The Walk

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?

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

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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I take walks daily with my dog to visit and hang out with friends. Fall is the prettiest show-off with her colorful jewels! The birds and squirrels play hide and seek within and keep me...

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11. It's September

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.

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- By Edgar A. Guest
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;

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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I can see in my mind's eye all that Edgar shows, especially in the final stanza with his description of Nature coming to her end-of-the-year party dressed to the nines, ready to celebrate a...

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12. The Eagle

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).

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

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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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...

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13. To Autumn

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.

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- By John Keats
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;

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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It's an awesome poem!!
I really love it!!!

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14. Fog

“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.

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- By Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking

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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My dear neighbor, Nellie, who is in her 80s, asked me, as I am an artist, to paint a picture for her to give to her husband for Christmas. She said he loves the poem "Here Comes the Fog" by...

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15. A Minor Bird

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.

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- By Robert Frost
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

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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I laughed at this poem. I have felt the same way at times. I live in the country, and there is nothing more peaceful than listening to God's natural sounds of nature, but it’s just like any...

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16. Desert Places

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.

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- By Robert Frost
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.

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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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...

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17. The Humblebee

Ralph Waldo Emerson was an American essayist, poet, and lecturer who lived from 1803-1882. Emerson believed that nature has knowledge for man to learn, but one must be attentive and willing to study the messages it presents. Emerson believed in the perfection of the natural world because it was not created by humans. This poem touches on the greatness of nature. The bee is seen as a symbol of innocence, and bumblebees used to be known as "humble bees." They are so intent on getting nectar that it's possible to pet them.

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- By Ralph Waldo Emerson
Burly dozing humblebee!
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek,

Burly dozing humblebee!
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek,
I will follow thee alone,
Thou animated torrid zone!
Zig-zag steerer, desert-cheerer,
Let me chase thy waving lines,
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.

Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion!
Sailor of the atmosphere,
Swimmer through the waves of air,
Voyager of light and noon,
Epicurean of June,
Wait I prithee, till I come
Within ear-shot of thy hum,--
All without is martyrdom.

When the south wind, in May days,
With a net of shining haze,
Silvers the horizon wall,
And, with softness touching all,
Tints the human countenance
With a color of romance,
And, infusing subtle heats,
Turns the sod to violets,
Thou in sunny solitudes,
Rover of the underwoods,
The green silence dost displace,
With thy mellow breezy bass.

Hot midsummer's petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tune,
Telling of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flowers,
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
In Indian wildernesses found,
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer and bird-like pleasure.

Aught unsavory or unclean,
Hath my insect never seen,
But violets and bilberry bells,
Maple sap and daffodels,
Grass with green flag half-mast high,
Succory to match the sky,
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented fern, and agrimony,
Clover, catch fly, adders-tongue,
And brier-roses dwelt among;
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.

Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher!
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff and take the wheat,
When the fierce north-western blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep,--
Woe and want thou canst out-sleep,--
Want and woe which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous
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18. Birches

"Birches" was first published in the Atlantic Monthly in 1915. The poem about the Birch tree with branches weighed heavy with ice and snow is one of Frost's most famous poems.

Famous Poem
- By Robert Frost
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
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19. Nothing Gold Can Stay

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.

Famous Poem

Top 100 33
- By Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.

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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20. Winter Morning Poem

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.

Famous Poem

Top 100 80
- By Ogden Nash
Winter is the king of showmen,
Turning tree stumps into snow men
And houses into birthday cakes
And spreading sugar over lakes.

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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1 - 20 of 68

Famous Nature Poems

Poems on Nature

68 Famous Nature Poems About The Beauty And Brutality Of Nature

1. Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

2. Sea Fever

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.

3. Peace

4. I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

5. The Brook

6. February Twilight

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.

7. There Is Another Sky

8. The Way Through The Woods

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."

9. A Light Exists In Spring

10. A Bird Came Down The Walk

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?

11. It's September

12. The Eagle

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).

13. To Autumn

14. Fog

15. A Minor Bird

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.

16. Desert Places

17. The Humblebee

18. Birches

"Birches" was first published in the Atlantic Monthly in 1915. The poem about the Birch tree with branches weighed heavy with ice and snow is one of Frost's most famous poems.

19. Nothing Gold Can Stay

20. Winter Morning Poem

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.