Poems About Nature
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Poems About Nature (Appreciating Mother Nature)

The world around us is wondrous, intriguing, and beautiful. Throughout times and eras, man has tried endlessly to understand the wonderful elements that make up our natural environments. We have highlighted these attempts in Poems About Nature.

21 Poems That Will Help You Better Appreciate Nature

Poems About Nature

Poems About Nature are pleasure windows into the world of appreciating nature and the beautiful elements of nature. These Poems About Nature picture vividly the physical world we interact with daily.

The truth is that nature has a lot to teach us. It can also make us ponder whether the lovely world and all of its natural wonders are the results of accident or creation. Poems About Nature reveals more to us than we already know.

Let’s start reading some nature poems right away!

1. Invitation

With wind and the weather beating round me
Up to the hill and the moorland I go.
Who will come with me? Who will climb with me?
Wade through the brook and tramp through the snow?

Not in the petty circle of cities
Cramped by your doors and your walls, I dwell;
Over me, God is blue in the welkin,
Against me the wind and the storm rebel.

I sport with solitude here in my regions,
Of misadventure have made me a friend.
Who would live largely? Who would live freely?
Here to the wind-swept uplands ascend.

I am the Lord of tempest and mountain,
I am the Spirit of freedom and pride.
Stark must he be and a kinsman to danger
Who shares my kingdom and walks at my side.

Sri Aurobindo

2. As Imperceptibly As Grief

As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away—
Too imperceptible at last
To seem like perfidy—

A Quietness distilled
As Twilight long begun,
Or Nature spending with herself
Sequestered Afternoon—

The Dusk drew earlier in—
The Morning foreign shone—
A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,
As Guest, that would be gone—

And thus, without a Wing
Or service of a Keel
Our Summer made her light escape
Into the Beautiful.

Emily Dickinson

3. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

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.

William Wordsworth

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4. On the Grasshopper and Cricket

The poetry of earth is never dead:

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,

And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run

From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;

That is the Grasshopper’s–he takes the lead

In summer luxury,–he has never done

With his delights; for when tired out with fun

He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.

The poetry of earth is ceasing never:

On a lone winter evening, when the frost

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills

The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,

And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,

The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.

John Keats

5. The Arbour

I’ll rest me in this sheltered bower,
And look upon the clear blue sky
That smiles upon me through the trees,
Which stand so thick clustering by;

And view their green and glossy leaves,
All glistening in the sunshine fair;
And list the rustling of their boughs,
So softly whispering through the air.

And while my ear drinks in the sound,
My winged soul shall fly away;
Reviewing lone departed years
As one mild, beaming, autumn day;

And soaring on to future scenes,
Like hills and woods, and valleys green,
All basking in the summer’s sun,
But distant still, and dimly seen.

Oh, list! ’tis summer’s very breath
That gently shakes the rustling trees–
But look! the snow is on the ground–
How can I think of scenes like these?

‘Tis but the FROST that clears the air,
And gives the sky that lovely blue;
They’re smiling in a WINTER’S sun,
Those evergreens of sombre hue.

And winter’s chill is on my heart–
How can I dream of future bliss?
How can my spirit soar away,
Confined by such a chain as this

Anne Bronte

6. Landscape With The Fall Of Icarus

According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring

a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry

of the year was
awake tingling
near

the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself

sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings’ wax

unsignificantly
off the coast
there was

a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

– William Carlos Williams

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7. Tiger Dance

Sleek, slender, cracking whip
dip, arch, circle,
agile, quick, deceitfully frail,
Is the delicate Art of the tiger Tail

Sharp, focused, all seeing orbs
dart, stalk, shimmer,
clear, intelligent, decidedly sly,
Is the dangerous Glint of the tiger eye

Strong, crude, ensnaring traps
catch, beat, claim,
savage, unfaltering, with addition of claw,
Is the brutal Work of the tiger Paw

Bloody, pointed, end of the game
devour, tear, shred,
And you with your final note sang
Are taken by the ravenous tiger Fang

I walk away without giving you a second glance
It’s your own fault you couldn’t keep with the Tiger Dance

– Carconti Etva

 

8. “Nature” Is What We See

“Nature” is what we see—

The Hill—the Afternoon—

Squirrel—Eclipse — the Bumble bee—

Nay—Nature is Heaven—

Nature is what we hear—

The Bobolink—the Sea—

Thunder—the Cricket—

Nay—Nature is Harmony—

Nature is what we know

Yet have no art to say—

So impotent Our Wisdom is

To her simplicity.

– Emily Dickinson

9. The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate,
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to me
The Century’s corpse outleant,
Its crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind its death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervorless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead,
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy unlimited.
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt and small,
With blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew,
And I was unaware.

– Thomas Hardy

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10. Has Flowered At Last Upon One Happy Branch?

Has flowered at last upon one happy branch?

Why is thy dwelling in the pathless wood

Far from the deeds thy glorious youth demands,

Haunt of the anchorites and earth’s wilder broods,

Where only with thy witness self thou roamst

In Nature’s green unhuman loneliness

Surrounded by enormous silences,

And the blind murmur of primaeval calms?”

And Satyavan replied to Savitri:

“In days when yet his sight looked clear on life,

King Dyumatsena once, the Shalwa, reigned

Through all the tract which from behind these tops

Passing its days of emerald delight,

In trusting converse with the traveller winds

Turns, looking back towards the southern heavens,

And leans its flank upon the musing hills.

But equal Fate removed her covering hand.

A living knight enclosed the strong man’s paths,

Heaven’s brilliant gods recalled their careless gifts,

Took from blank eyes their glad and helping ray

And led the uncertain goddess from his side.

Outcast from empire of the outer light,

Lost to the comradeship of seeing men,

He sojourns in two solitudes, within

And in the solemn rustle of the woods.

Son of that king, I, Satyavan, have lived

Contented, for not yet of thee aware,

In my high-peopled loneliness of spirit,

And this huge vital murmur kin to me,

Nursed by the vastness, pupil of solitude.

Great Nature came to her recovered child;

I reigned in a kingdom of a nobler kind

Than men can build upon dull Matter’s soil;

I met the frankness of the primal earth,

I enjoyed the intimacy of infant God.

In the great, tapestried chambers of her state,

– Sri Aurobindo, Savitri.

Poems About Nature in very few words capture the intriguing world of nature and our environment. Poets of different eras wrote these poems in an attempt to explain the intriguing nature of the world we live in.

Let your friends know your favorite piece from this collection!

Daily Time Poems.

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