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Best Famous Nature Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Nature poems. This is a select list of the best famous Nature poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Nature poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of nature poems.

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by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

Gods Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed.
Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs— Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.


by Ralph Waldo Emerson | |

Concord Hymn

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world.
The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.
On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone.
Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee.


by Emily Dickinson | |

A light exists in spring

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 hills That science cannot overtake, But human nature feels.
It waits upon the lawn; It shows the furthest tree Upon the furthest slope we know; It almost speaks to me.
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.


by Emily Dickinson | |

A narrow fellow in the grass

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.


by John Keats | |

Last Sonnet

BRIGHT Star! would I were steadfast as thou art¡ª 
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night  
And watching with eternal lids apart  
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite  
The moving waters at their priest-like task 5 
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores  
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask 
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors¡ª 
No¡ªyet still steadfast still unchangeable  
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast 10 
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell  
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest  
Still still to hear her tender-taken breath  
And so live ever¡ªor else swoon to death.


by Emily Dickinson | |

Each life converges to some centre

Each life converges to some centre
Expressed or still;
Exists in every human nature
A goal,

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,
Too fair
For credibility's temerity
To dare.
Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven, To reach Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment To touch, Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance; How high Unto the saints' slow diligence The sky! Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture, But then, Eternity enables the endeavoring Again.


by | |

On Salathiel Pavy

A child of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel 
Epitaphs: ii


WEEP with me all you that read 
This little story; 
And know for whom a tear you shed 
Death's self is sorry.
'Twas a child that so did thrive 5 In grace and feature As Heaven and Nature seem'd to strive Which own'd the creature.
Years he number'd scarce thirteen When Fates turn'd cruel 10 Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been The stage's jewel; And did act (what now we moan) Old men so duly As sooth the Parcae thought him one 15 He play'd so truly.
So by error to his fate They all consented; But viewing him since alas too late! They have repented; 20 And have sought to give new birth In baths to steep him; But being so much too good for earth Heaven vows to keep him.


by Philip Larkin | |

To My Wife

 Choice of you shuts up that peacock-fan
The future was, in which temptingly spread
All that elaborative nature can.
Matchless potential! but unlimited Only so long as I elected nothing; Simply to choose stopped all ways up but one, And sent the tease-birds from the bushes flapping.
No future now.
I and you now, alone.
So for your face I have exchanged all faces, For your few properties bargained the brisk Baggage, the mask-and-magic-man's regalia.
Now you become my boredom and my failure, Another way of suffering, a risk, A heavier-than-air hypostasis.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

The Silver Jubilee

 To James First Bishop of Shrewsbury on the 
25th Year of his Episcopate July 28.
1876 1 THOUGH no high-hung bells or din Of braggart bugles cry it in— What is sound? Nature's round Makes the Silver Jubilee.
2 Five and twenty years have run Since sacred fountains to the sun Sprang, that but now were shut, Showering Silver Jubilee.
3 Feasts, when we shall fall asleep, Shrewsbury may see others keep; None but you this her true, This her Silver Jubilee.
4 Not today we need lament Your wealth of life is some way spent: Toil has shed round your head Silver but for Jubilee.
5 Then for her whose velvet vales Should have pealed with welcome, Wales, Let the chime of a rhyme Utter Silver Jubilee.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

The Handsome Heart

 at a Gracious Answer


'But tell me, child, your choice; what shall I buy
You?'—'Father, what you buy me I like best.
' With the sweetest air that said, still plied and pressed, He swung to his first poised purport of reply.
What the heart is! which, like carriers let fly— Doff darkness, homing nature knows the rest— To its own fine function, wild and self-instressed, Falls light as ten years long taught how to and why.
Mannerly-hearted! more than handsome face— Beauty's bearing or muse of mounting vein, All, in this case, bathed in high hallowing grace.
.
.
Of heaven what boon to buy you, boy, or gain Not granted?—Only .
.
.
O on that path you pace Run all your race, O brace sterner that strain!


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

Duns Scotuss Oxford

 Towery city and branchy between towers;
Cuckoo-echoing, bell-swarmèd, lark-charmèd, rook-racked, river-rounded;
The dapple-eared lily below thee; that country and town did
Once encounter in, here coped and poisèd powers; 
Thou hast a base and brickish skirt there, sours
That neighbour-nature thy grey beauty is grounded
Best in; graceless growth, thou hast confounded
Rural rural keeping—folk, flocks, and flowers.
Yet ah! this air I gather and I release He lived on; these weeds and waters, these walls are what He haunted who of all men most sways my spirits to peace; Of realty the rarest-veinèd unraveller; a not Rivalled insight, be rival Italy or Greece; Who fired France for Mary without spot.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

Morning Midday And Evening Sacrifice

 The dappled die-away
Cheek and wimpled lip,
The gold-wisp, the airy-grey
Eye, all in fellowship—
This, all this beauty blooming,
This, all this freshness fuming,
Give God while worth consuming.
Both thought and thew now bolder And told by Nature: Tower; Head, heart, hand, heel, and shoulder That beat and breathe in power— This pride of prime's enjoyment Take as for tool, not toy meant And hold at Christ's employment.
The vault and scope and schooling And mastery in the mind, In silk-ash kept from cooling, And ripest under rind— What life half lifts the latch of, What hell stalks towards the snatch of, Your offering, with despatch, of!


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

What Being in Rank-Old Nature

 What being in rank-old nature should earlier have that breath been
That h?re p?rsonal tells off these heart-song powerful peals?— 
A bush-browed, beetle-br?wed b?llow is it? 
With a so?th-w?sterly w?nd bl?stering, with a tide rolls reels 
Of crumbling, fore-foundering, thundering all-surfy seas in; seen
?nderneath, their glassy barrel, of a fairy green.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Or a jaunting vaunting vaulting assaulting trumpet telling


by Anne Kingsmill Finch | |

The Equipage

 Since the Road of Life's so ill; 
I, to pass it, use this Skill, 
My frail Carriage driving home 
To its latest Stage, the Tomb.
Justice first, in Harness strong, Marches stedfastly along: Charity, to smooth the Pace, Fills the next adjoining Trace: Independance leads the Way, Whom no heavy Curb do's sway; Truth an equal Part sustains, All indulg'd the loosen'd Reins: In the Box fits vig'rous Health, Shunning miry Paths of Wealth: Gaiety with easy Smiles, Ev'ry harsher Step beguiles; Whilst of Nature, or of Fate Only This I wou'd intreat: The Equipage might not decay, Till the worn Carriage drops away.


by Anne Kingsmill Finch | |

The Marriage of Edward Herbert Esquire and Mrs. Elizabeth Herbert

 CUPID one day ask'd his Mother, 
When she meant that he shou'd Wed? 
You're too Young, my Boy, she said: 
Nor has Nature made another 
Fit to match with Cupid's Bed.
Cupid then her Sight directed To a lately Wedded Pair; Where Himself the Match effected; They as Youthful, they as Fair.
Having by Example carry'd This first Point in the Dispute; WORSELEY next he said's not Marry'd: Her's with Cupid's Charms may suit


by Anne Kingsmill Finch | |

The Unequal Fetters

 Cou'd we stop the time that's flying
Or recall itt when 'tis past
Put far off the day of Dying
Or make Youth for ever last
To Love wou'd then be worth our cost.
But since we must loose those Graces Which at first your hearts have wonne And you seek for in new Faces When our Spring of Life is done It wou'd but urdge our ruine on Free as Nature's first intention Was to make us, I'll be found Nor by subtle Man's invention Yeild to be in Fetters bound By one that walks a freer round.
Mariage does but slightly tye Men Whil'st close Pris'ners we remain They the larger Slaves of Hymen Still are begging Love again At the full length of all their chain.


by Constantine P Cavafy | |

Morning Sea

 Let me stop here.
Let me, too, look at nature awhile.
The brilliant blue of the morning sea, of the cloudless sky, the yellow shore; all lovely, all bathed in light.
Let me stand here.
And let me pretend I see all this (I really did see it for a minute when I first stopped) and not my usual day-dreams here too, my memories, those images of sensual pleasure.
trans.
by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard


by Constantine P Cavafy | |

On An Italian Shore

 Kimos, son of Menedoros, a young Greek-Italian,
devotes his life to amusing himself,
like most young men in Greater Greece
brought up in the lap of luxury.
But today, in spite of his nature, he is preoccupied, dejected.
Near the shore he watched, deeply distressed, as they unload ships with booty taken from the Peloponnese.
G r e e k l o o t: b o o t y f r o m C o r i n t h.
Today certainly it is not right, it is not possible for the young Greek-Italian to want to amuse himself in any way.


by Constantine P Cavafy | |

Of The Shop

 He wrapped them carefully, neatly
in costly green silk.
Roses of ruby, lilies of pearl, violets of amethyst.
As he himself judged, as he wanted them, they look beautiful to him; not as he saw or studied them in nature.
He will leave them in the safe, a sample of his daring and skillful craft.
When a buyer enters the shop he takes from the cases other wares and sells -- superb jewels -- bracelets, chains, necklaces, and rings.


by G K Chesterton | |

The Holy of Holies

 ‘Elder father, though thine eyes 
Shine with hoary mysteries, 
Canst thou tell what in the heart 
Of a cowslip blossom lies? 

‘Smaller than all lives that be, 
Secret as the deepest sea, 
Stands a little house of seeds, 
Like an elfin’s granary.
‘Speller of the stones and weeds, Skilled in Nature’s crafts and creeds, Tell me what is in the heart Of the smallest of the seeds.
’ ‘God Almighty, and with Him Cherubim and Seraphim, Filling all eternity— Adonai Elohim.