Famous Nature Poems - Page 2

21 - 40 of 57 Poems

  1. 21. Pray To What Earth

    Famous Poem

    Henry David Thoreau was an American author, poet, and historian who lived from 1817-1862. Some of his works are about living simply among the surroundings of nature, which can be felt in this piece. Thoreau personifies the moon in this poem by giving “her” human characteristics.

    Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong,
    Which asks no duties and no conscience?
    The moon goes up by leaps, her cheerful path
    In some far summer stratum of the sky,
    While stars with their cold shine bedot her way.
    The fields gleam mildly back upon the sky,
    And far and near upon the leafless shrubs
    The snow dust still emits a silver light.
    Under the hedge, where drift banks are their screen,
    The titmice now pursue their downy dreams,
    As often in the sweltering summer nights
    The bee doth drop asleep in the flower cup,
    When evening overtakes him with his load.
    By the brooksides, in the still, genial night,
    The more adventurous wanderer may hear
    The crystals shoot and form, and winter slow
    Increase his rule by gentlest summer means

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 631
    • Favorited 4
    • Votes 189
    • Rating 3.79
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  2. Advertisement

    Advertisement

  3. 22. The Seed-Shop

    Famous Poem

    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.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 2161
    • Favorited 7
    • Votes 181
    • Rating 4.25
    • Poem of the Day
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  4. Advertisement

    Advertisement

  5. 23. Spring

    Famous Poem

    Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950), was born in Rockland, Maine on February 22. During the 1920's she lived in Greenwich Village, New York City, and wrote for Vanity Fair under the pseudonym Nancy Boyd.

    To what purpose, April, do you return again?
    Beauty is not enough.
    You can no longer quiet me with the redness
    Of little leaves opening stickily.
    I know what I know.
    The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
    The spikes of the crocus.
    The smell of the earth is good.
    It is apparent that there is no death.
    But what does that signify?
    Not only under ground are the brains of men
    Eaten by maggots.
    Life in itself
    Is nothing,
    An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
    It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
    April
    Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 691
    • Favorited 2
    • Votes 144
    • Rating 3.82
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  6. 24. Desert Places

    Famous Poem

    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.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 1
    • Shares 2087
    • Favorited 5
    • Votes 139
    • Rating 4.01
    Featured Shared Story

    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...

    Read complete story

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (1)

  7. 25. Birches

    Famous Poem

    "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.

    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.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 1
    • Shares 615
    • Favorited 7
    • Votes 135
    • Rating 3.84
    Featured Shared Story

    I love this poem. It make me appreciate what the writer had done.

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (1)

  8. 26. February Twilight

    Famous Poem

    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.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 1
    • Shares 532
    • Favorited 8
    • Votes 127
    • Rating 4.24
    Featured Shared Story

    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...

    Read complete story

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (1)

  9. 27. It's September

    Famous Poem


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

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

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

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

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

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 1
    • Shares 1381
    • Favorited 18
    • Votes 109
    • Rating 4.63
    • Poem of the Week
    Featured Shared Story

    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...

    Read complete story

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (1)

  10. 28. The Humblebee

    Famous Poem

    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.

    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

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 1
    • Shares 418
    • Favorited 5
    • Votes 102
    • Rating 3.80
    Featured Shared Story

    This poem really touched me. Fantastic work, truly beautiful.

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (1)

  11. 29. A Narrow Fellow In The Grass

    Famous Poem

    When the poem was published in the Springfield Daily Republican (Feb. 14, 1866), it was entitled "The Snake."

    A narrow fellow in the grass
    Occasionally rides;
    You may have met him,--did you not,
    His notice sudden is.

    The grass divides as with a comb,
    A spotted shaft is seen;
    And then it closes at your feet
    And opens further on.

    He likes a boggy acre,
    A floor too cool for corn.
    Yet when a child, and barefoot,
    I more than once, at morn,

    Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash
    Unbraiding in the sun,--
    When, stooping to secure it,
    It wrinkled, and was gone.

    Several of nature's people
    I know, and they know me;
    I feel for them a transport
    Of cordiality;

    But never met this fellow,
    Attended or alone,
    Without a tighter breathing,
    And zero at the bone.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 406
    • Favorited 3
    • Votes 97
    • Rating 3.78
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  12. 30. The Fish

    Famous Poem

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

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

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 1208
    • Favorited 4
    • Votes 88
    • Rating 3.67
    • Poem of the Day
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  13. 31. Memory

    Famous Poem

    Life is filled with many moments, and it’s impossible to remember all of them. However, certain things in life will always stick with us. Sometimes it’s a small and seemingly insignificant moment, but something about it strikes a chord with us, making it impossible to forget. Often, we remember specific sights and smells. Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836-1907) was a poet, novelist, traveler, and editor. His book The Story of a Bad Boy (1870) was based on his own childhood, and it impacted other writers. Mark Twain went on to write a similar story, Tom Sawyer, that was published five years later.

    My mind lets go a thousand things
    Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,
    And yet recalls the very hour--
    'T was noon by yonder village tower,
    And on the last blue noon in May--
    The wind came briskly up this way,
    Crisping the brook beside the road;
    Then, pausing here, set down its load
    Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly
    Two petals from that wild-rose tree.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 524
    • Favorited 9
    • Votes 69
    • Rating 4.01
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  14. 32. A Day Of Sunshine

    Famous Poem

    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?

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 802
    • Favorited 5
    • Votes 65
    • Rating 4.28
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  15. 33. The Rain

    Famous Poem

    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.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 421
    • Favorited 2
    • Votes 47
    • Rating 4.53
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  16. 34. Who Has Seen The Wind?

    Famous Poem

    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.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 195
    • Favorited 2
    • Votes 42
    • Rating 4.19
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  17. 35. A Winter Blue Jay

    Famous Poem

    Sara Teasdale’s (1884-1933) “A Winter Blue Jay” was published in the book Rivers to the Sea in 1915. This poem features two lovers enjoying a beautiful winter day. They think nothing could be better than the sights they’ve already experienced, but then they spot a bluejay. Just as their day is filled with more beauty, so is their love as time moves forward. Sara Teasdale married Ernst Filsinger. Unfortunately, he traveled a lot for work, leaving her lonely, and their marriage ended in 1929.

    Crisply the bright snow whispered,
    Crunching beneath our feet;
    Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
    Our shadows danced,
    Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.
    Across the lake the skaters
    Flew to and fro,
    With sharp turns weaving
    A frail invisible net.
    In ecstasy the earth
    Drank the silver sunlight;
    In ecstasy the skaters
    Drank the wine of speed;
    In ecstasy we laughed
    Drinking the wine of love.
    Had not the music of our joy
    Sounded its highest note?
    But no,
    For suddenly, with lifted eyes you said,
    “Oh look!”
    There, on the black bough of a snow flecked maple,
    Fearless and gay as our love,
    A bluejay cocked his crest!
    Oh who can tell the range of joy
    Or set the bounds of beauty?

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 446
    • Favorited 4
    • Votes 34
    • Rating 3.47
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  18. 36. Our Blessings

    Famous Poem

    “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.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 256
    • Favorited 3
    • Votes 31
    • Rating 4.29
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  19. 37. No Songs In Winter

    Famous Poem

    Everything changes and slows down in winter. The world seems empty, and time moves slowly. For many, it can be a difficult season to get through, but one day, everything will return, and things will be restored.

    The sky is gray as gray may be,
    There is no bird upon the bough,
    There is no leaf on vine or tree.

    In the Neponset marshes now
    Willow-stems, rosy in the wind,
    Shiver with hidden sense of snow.

    So too 't is winter in my mind,
    No light-winged fancy comes and stays:
    A season churlish and unkind.

    Slow creep the hours, slow creep the days,
    The black ink crusts upon the pen--
    Just wait till bluebirds, wrens, and jays
    And golden orioles come again!

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 374
    • Favorited 4
    • Votes 26
    • Rating 3.96
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  20. 38. The Mountain

    Famous Poem

    "The Mountain" by Emily Dickinson depicts the majestic presence of a mountain on the plain. The mountain is a metaphor for a timeless grandfather figure, firmly seated in its eternal chair, and possessing a comprehensive awareness that extends everywhere. The poem further illustrates the mountain's significance by likening it to a revered figure, with the seasons gathering around it like children around a father. The mountain is depicted as a revered ancestor, the originator of each new day's dawn.

    The mountain sat upon the plain
    In his eternal chair,
    His observation omnifold,
    His inquest everywhere.

    The seasons prayed around his knees,
    Like children round a sire:
    Grandfather of the days is he,
    Of dawn the ancestor.

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 41
    • Favorited 0
    • Votes 18
    • Rating 3.94
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  21. 39. Vision

    Famous Poem

    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?

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 215
    • Favorited 4
    • Votes 16
    • Rating 4.00
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

  22. 40. Pebbles

    • By Frank Dempster Sherman

    Famous Poem

    "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 !

    Go To Complete Poem

    • Stories 0
    • Shares 129
    • Favorited 2
    • Votes 15
    • Rating 4.40
    Featured Shared Story

    No Stories yet, You can be the first!

    Touched by the poem? Share your story! (0)

21 - 40 of 57 Poems

Back to Top