Famous Nature Poems - Page 2

21 - 40 of 57 Poems

  1. 21. Winter Morning Poem

    Famous 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.

    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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  3. 22. 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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  5. 23. 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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  6. 24. Early Summer

    • By Ellwood Roberts

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    "Early Summer" by Ellwood Roberts (1846-1921) is a poem that celebrates the joys and beauty of the early summer season. Through vivid imagery and a focus on the positive aspects of this time of year, the poem captures the essence of the season. The poet uses poetic techniques such as personification (referring to nature as if it has human qualities) and imagery (vivid descriptions that appeal to the senses) to convey the sense of joy and abundance that comes with early summer. The poem invites readers to appreciate the natural world and the blessings of the season.

    Full of joy is early Summer,
        Growth and warmth and golden light;
    Every day is crowned with beauty,
        Full of loveliness the night.
    Dazzling sunshine brings the roses,
        Fills the whole bright world with bloom;
    Day and night rejoice together,
        Banished now are doubt and gloom.

    Skies serene and loving woo us
        To the woods and fields to-day;
    Who would linger long when Nature
        Calls him to her feast away?
    Earth a veritable Eden
        In the glowing sunlight gleams,
    Life a grand and noble epic,
        Viewed from such a standpoint seems.

    Gladness reigns the wide world over,
        Early Summer's golden light
    Fills each bosom with thanksgiving
        For the season's blessings bright.
    Happy harvest days are coming,
        Full of joy, throughout the land;
    Where the fields of grain are waving,
        Full-eared wheat in shocks shall stand.

    Perfect days that pass too quickly,
        One by one they come and go,
    Each in turn reveals rare blessing,
        Beauty passing all below.
    Balmy air and bright green landscape,
        Glowing eve and dewy dawn;
    Sunlight's gold on field and forest—
        We shall grieve when these are gone.

    Joyous time to him that loveth
        Growth and warmth and golden light;
    Day is full of blessed beauty,
        Full of peace the dewy night.
    Early Summer! time of roses,
        All the earth is filled with bloom;
    Every heart in thee rejoices,
        Banished now are doubt and gloom.

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  7. 25. The Woodpecker

    • By Elizabeth Madox Roberts

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    "The Woodpecker" by Elizabeth Madox Roberts whimsically explores the crafty home-making of a woodpecker. The poem, with its delightful rhymes, captures the charming image of a woodpecker snugly residing in a telephone pole, ready to weather the storms in its cozy abode.

    The woodpecker pecked out a little round hole
    And made him a house in the telephone pole.

    One day when I watched he poked out his head,
    And he had on a hood and a collar of red.

    When the streams of rain pour out of the sky,
    And the sparkles of lightning go flashing by,

    And the big, big wheels of thunder roll,
    He can snuggle back in the telephone pole.

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  8. 26. 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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  9. 27. 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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  10. 28. 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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  11. 29. The Glory Of The Garden

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    The Glory Of The Garden By Rudyard Kipling was first published in A School History of England (1911).

    Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
    Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
    With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
    But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.

    For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
    You'll find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all
    The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dung-pits and the tanks,
    The rollers, carts, and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.

    And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and 'prentice boys
    Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise ;
    For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
    The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.

    And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
    And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows ;
    But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
    For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.

    Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
    By singing, "Oh, how beautiful," and sitting in the shade
    While better men than we go out and start their working lives
    At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.

    There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick,
    There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick
    But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done,
    For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.

    Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
    If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
    And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
    You will find yourself a partner In the Glory of the Garden.

    Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
    That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,
    So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
    For the Glory of the Garden that it may not pass away!

    And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away!

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  12. 30. Our Blessings

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    “Our Blessings" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox encourages readers to reflect on the small, everyday blessings in life and to be grateful for them. She reminds us that blessings come in all forms, whether they be big or small, and that they are all around us if we only take the time to notice them. The poem employs poetic techniques such as imagery, where the speaker uses descriptive language to create sensory experiences for the reader, helping them to see and feel the blessings in their life. Alliteration is also used to draw attention to the beauty of the sky and repetition is used to stress the idea that blessings are all around us.

    Sitting to-day in the sunshine
        That touched me with fingers of love,
    I thought of the manifold blessings
        God scatters on earth, from above;
    And they seemed, as I numbered them over,
        Far more than we merit, or need,
    And all that we lack is the angels
        To make earth a heaven indeed.

    The winter brings long, pleasant evenings,
        The spring brings a promise of flowers
    That summer breathes into fruition;
        And autumn brings glad, golden hours.
    The woodlands re-echo with music,
        The moonbeams ensilver the sea;
    There is sunlight and beauty about us,
        And the world is as fair as can be.

    But mortals are always complaining!
        Each one thinks his own a sad lot,
    And forgetting the good things about him,
        Goes mourning for those he has not.
    Instead of the star-spangled heavens,
        We look on the dust at our feet;
    We drain out the cup that is bitter,
        Forgetting the one that is sweet.

    We mourn o'er the thorn in the flower,
        Forgetting its odor and bloom;
    We pass by a garden of blossoms,
        To weep o'er the dust of the tomb.
    There are blessings unnumbered about us--
        Like the leaves of the forest they grow;
    And the fault is our own--not the Giver's--
        That we have not Eden below.

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  13. 31. A Day Of Sunshine

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    Sunny days have a way of making us feel fantastic. We want to take full advantage of what the day has to offer. Famous poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) captures the beauty and desire to enjoy nature on a sunny day. Sunny days can make it hard to focus on work because one would rather be outside enjoying the majesty of the natural world. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was a prolific writer of prose and poetry. After graduating from college, he studied languages in Europe before becoming a college professor at Bowdoin, his alma mater, and later at Harvard.

    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!

    Through every fibre of my brain,
    Through every nerve, through every vein,
    I feel the electric thrill, the touch
    Of life, that seems almost too much.

    I hear the wind among the trees
    Playing celestial symphonies;
    I see the branches downward bent,
    Like keys of some great instrument.

    And over me unrolls on high
    The splendid scenery of the sky,
    Where though a sapphire sea the sun
    Sails like a golden galleon,

    Towards yonder cloud-land in the West,
    Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,
    Whose steep sierra far uplifts
    Its craggy summits white with drifts.

    Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms
    The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms!
    Blow, winds! and bend within my reach
    The fiery blossoms of the peach!

    O Life and Love! O happy throng
    Of thoughts, whose only speech is song!
    O heart of man! canst thou not be
    Blithe as the air is, and as free?

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  14. 32. Music

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    Bessie Rayner Parkes lived from 1829-1925. She was an English feminist who became an editor of the Britain's first feminist magazine. This poem showcases how nature creates a concert for anyone who stops to listen.

    Sweet melody amidst the moving spheres
    Breaks forth, a solemn and entrancing sound,
    A harmony whereof the earth's green hills
    Give but the faintest echo; yet is there
    A music everywhere, and concert sweet!
    All birds which sing amidst the forest deep
    Till the flowers listen with unfolded bells;
    All winds that murmur over summer grass,
    Or curl the waves upon the pebbly shore;
    Chiefly all earnest human voices rais'd
    In charity and for the cause of truth,
    Mingle together in one sacred chord,
    And float, a grateful incense, up to God.

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  15. 33. 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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  16. 34. 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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  17. 35. 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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  18. 36. 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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  19. 37. There Will Come Soft Rains (War Time)

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    The Sedition Act of 1918 made it a crime to express any dissenting views about the U.S. involvements in World War I. This forced writers like Sara Teasdale to express their opposition to the war in more subtle ways. The poem suggests that even if humans were to be destroyed by war, the earth would continue to exist and even flourish without us. The personification of Spring as being indifferent to the fate of humanity emphasizes that the meaning of our existence is something that we create for ourselves, and that nature is not concerned with us. The poem is a powerful statement against the wasteful nature of war, and a reminder that we must strive to protect the natural world that sustains us.

    There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
    And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

    And frogs in the pools singing at night,
    And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

    Robins will wear their feathery fire
    Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

    And not one will know of the war, not one
    Will care at last when it is done.

    Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
    If mankind perished utterly;

    And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
    Would scarcely know that we were gone.

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  20. 38. 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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  21. 39. 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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  22. 40. Who Has Seen The Wind?

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    Until the age of nine, Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) spent time at her grandfather’s cottage in Holmer Green. In 1839, he sold the property and moved to London. During these visits to Holmer Green, Christina had the freedom to wander around the property and fall in love with nature. The natural world seeped into the poetry she went on to write.

    Who has seen the wind?
    Neither I nor you:
    But when the leaves hang trembling,
    The wind is passing through.

    Who has seen the wind?
    Neither you nor I:
    But when the trees bow down their heads,
    The wind is passing by.

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