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Famous Short Weather Poems. Short Weather Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Weather Poems. Short Weather Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Weather short poems

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

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by Wang Wei

In The Hills

 White rocks jutting from Ching stream
The weather's cold, red leaves few
No rain at all on the paths in the hills
Clothes are wet with the blue air.


by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Nice

There was an old person of Nice,
Whose associates were usually Geese.
They walked out together in all sorts of weather,
That affable person of Nice!


by Edward Lear

There Was An Old Person Of Nice

 There was an old person of Nice, 
Whose associates were usually Geese.
They walked out together, in all sorts of weather.
That affable person of Nice!


by Edward Lear

There was a young person of Ayr

There was a young person of Ayr,
Whose head was remarkably square:
On the top, in fine weather, she wore a gold feather;
Which dazzled the people of Ayr.


by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Philœ

There was an Old Person of Philœ,
Whose conduct was scroobious and wily;
He rushed up a Palm when the weather was calm,
And observed all the ruins of Philœ.


by Edward Lear

There was a Young Lady of Turkey

There was a Young Lady of Turkey,
Who wept when the weather was murky;
When the day turned out fine, she ceased to repine,
That capricious Young Lady of Turkey.


by Emily Dickinson

Myself can read the Telegrams

 Myself can read the Telegrams
A Letter chief to me
The Stock's advance and Retrograde
And what the Markets say

The Weather -- how the Rains
In Counties have begun.
'Tis News as null as nothing, But sweeter so -- than none.


by Bertolt Brecht

Parting

 We embrace.
Rich cloth under my fingers While yours touch poor fabric.
A quick embrace You were invited for dinner While the minions of law are after me.
We talk about the weather and our Lasting friendship.
Anything else Would be too bitter.


by Carl Sandburg

How Much?

 HOW much do you love me, a million bushels?
Oh, a lot more than that, Oh, a lot more.
And to-morrow maybe only half a bushel? To-morrow maybe not even a half a bushel.
And is this your heart arithmetic? This is the way the wind measures the weather.


by Ogden Nash

I Didnt Go To Church Today

 I didn't go to church today,
I trust the Lord to understand.
The surf was swirling blue and white, The children swirling on the sand.
He knows, He knows how brief my stay, How brief this spell of summer weather, He knows when I am said and done We'll have plenty of time together.


by Constantine P Cavafy

Return

 This little house sows the degrees
By which wood can return to trees.
Weather has stained the shingles dark And indistinguishable from bark.
Lichen that long ago adjourned Its lodging here has now returned.
And if you look in through the door You see a sapling through the floor.


by Siegfried Sassoon

Arcady Unheeding

 Shepherds go whistling on their way 
In the spring season of the year; 
One watches weather-signs of day; 
One of his maid most dear 
Dreams; and they do not hear
The birds that sing and sing; they do not see 
Wide wealds of blue beyond their windy lea, 
Nor blossoms red and white on every tree.


by Mother Goose

One Misty Moisty Morning


One misty moisty morning,
    When cloudy was the weather,
I chanced to meet an old man,
    Clothed all in leather.
He began to compliment
    And I began to grin.
How do you do? And how do you do?
    And how do you do again?


by Constantine P Cavafy

Supplication

 The sea took a sailor to its depths.
-- His mother, unsuspecting, goes and lights a tall candle before the Virgin Mary for his speedy return and for fine weather -- and always she turns her ear to the wind.
But while she prays and implores, the icon listens, solemn and sad, knowing that the son she expects will no longer return.


by Wang Wei

Mount Zhongnan

 Its massive height near the City of Heaven 
Joins a thousand mountains to the corner of the sea.
Clouds, when I look back, close behind me, Mists, when I enter them, are gone.
A central peak divides the wilds And weather into many valleys.
.
.
.
Needing a place to spend the night, I call to a wood-cutter over the river


by Susan Rich

For Sale

 Xhosa women in clothes too light

for the weather have brought wild flowers

and sit sloped along the Claremont road.
I see her through rolled windows, watch her watch me to decide if I’ll pay.
It’s South Africa, after all, after apartheid; but we’re still idling here, my car to her curb, my automatic locks to her inadequate wage.


by Herman Melville

America

 Once in English they said America.
Was it English to them.
Once they said Belgian.
We like a fog.
Do you for weather.
Are we brave.
Are we true.
Have we the national colour.
Can we stand ditches.
Can we mean well.
Do we talk together.
Have we red cross.
A great many people speak of feet.
And socks.


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

Light Hearted William

 Light hearted William twirled 
his November moustaches 
and, half dressed, looked
from the bedroom window
upon the spring weather.
Heigh-ya! sighed he gaily leaning out to see up and down the street where a heavy sunlight lay beyond some blue shadows.
Into the room he drew his head again and laughed to himself quietly twirling his green moustaches.


by Robert Graves

Dew-drop and Diamond

 The difference between you and her
(whom I to you did once prefer)
Is clear enough to settle:
She like a diamond shone, but you
Shine like an early drop of dew
Poised on a red rose petal.
The dew-drop carries in its eye Mountain and forest, sea and sky, With every change of weather; Contrariwise, a diamond splits The prospect into idle bits That none can piece together.


by Wallace Stevens

Disillusionment Of Ten Oclock

 The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange, With socks of lace And beaded ceintures.
People are not going To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches Tigers In red weather.


by Wallace Stevens

Disillusionment of Ten o Clock

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange, With socks of lace And beaded ceintures.
People are not going To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches tigers In red weather.


by Vachel Lindsay

Caught in a Net

 Upon her breast her hands and hair 
Were tangled all together.
The moon of June forbade me not — The golden night time weather In balmy sighs commanded me To kiss them like a feather.
Her looming hair, her burning hands, Were tangled black and white.
My face I buried there.
I pray — So far from her to-night — For grace, to dream I kiss her soul Amid the black and white.


by Emily Dickinson

Before you thought of spring

Before you thought of spring,
Except as a surmise,
You see, God bless his suddenness,
A fellow in the skies
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.
With specimens of song, As if for you to choose, Discretion in the interval, With gay delays he goes To some superior tree Without a single leaf, And shouts for joy to nobody But his seraphic self!


by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Spring Song

 THE air was full of sun and birds,
The fresh air sparkled clearly.
Remembrance wakened in my heart And I knew I loved her dearly.
The fallows and the leafless trees And all my spirit tingled.
My earliest thought of love, and Spring's First puff of perfume mingled.
In my still heart the thoughts awoke, Came lone by lone together - Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love A mere affair of weather?


by William Shakespeare

Under the Greenwood Tree

 Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.


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