These Nature Spring poems are examples of Spring poems about Nature. These are the best examples of Nature Spring poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
The land still held in wint'ry grasp.
Against the chill my breath did rasp.
When for a moment my eyes did see,
A fair maiden dancing nakedly.
Nary a stitch nor thread on her wond'rous shape.
As she beckoned I could naught but gape.
When she spoke her voice was a melody,
Promising things that I only dreamed.
I went to her in bewildered awe,
And this is suddenly what I saw-
White roses tangled in her flaxen tresses,
A thousand poppies at her feet,
Fairies danced in diaphinous dresses,
With sunlight was the scene replete.
On she led o'er field and meadow.
Where she trod the spring would show.
With love and joy my heart did swell,
For this maiden had rescued me from winter's hell.
For hours we laughed and sang and such.
I would gasp and tremble at her every touch.
Not once did I think to inquire her name,
Nor did I ask from whence she came.
We rested at length 'neath a stately oak,
And this I found when I awoke-
Gone was my maiden and the spring she brought,
Frozen were the fields and meadows,
Simply a dream, or so I had thought,
Yet clasped in my hand, a single white rose.
I return each day to this lonely place,
Hoping to glimpse my fair maiden's face.
Low does the sun sink in the winter sky,
When I turn home with a tear in my eye.
For once again she has neglected to show,
And left me this wretched ice and snow.
Yet I musn't believe that she does not care,
Lest I should let my heart despair.
For she will return again one day,
Turning as she goes, December to May.
I love rain
It's a month now into spring
And still the rain pours down
Hey, is it ever going to end
There's many here that frown
They want the sunny weather
That will come soon enought
But right now, I'm enjoying it
Rain, I love the stuff.
Next week we're off on holiday
Now it really does rain there
And I'll love very bit of it
As it soaks up everywhere
To hear it's rhythm on the roof
It makes me feel so grand
Though many think that I am strange
They just don't understand
We don't get much rain in WA
So when it comes, for me
It makes me so excited
I guess it's how i be
So keep that rain a coming down
Let me feel it's soft, wet touch
I don't know what is wrong with me
But I love rain so much.
23 September 2013 @ 0624hrs
In winter’s white, as angels cry
for early spring to warm the wind,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned.
For early spring to warm the wind,
at Valentine’s romantic calls,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls.
At Valentine’s romantic calls,
rebirth of nature’s light divine,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls,
and blossoms pastel shades recline.
Rebirth of nature’s light divine,
when day equals the hours of night,
and blossoms pastel shades recline,
to hail the queen of May in light.
When day equals the hours of night,
a summer’s sun will come to play,
to hail the queen of May in light,
we chant and sing along the way.
A summer’s sun will come to play,
so life can grow as gods decreed,
we chant and sing along the way,
with warmth and light our hunger feed.
So life can grow as gods decreed,
the rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
with warmth and light our hunger feed,
the wealth of harvest is our own.
The rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
in autumn breeze that chills the heat,
the wealth of harvest is our own,
as gold and red belies our feet.
In autumn breeze that chills the heat,
a year that ends with blessed Samhain,
as gold and red belies our feet,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign.
A year that ends with blessed Samhain,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign,
in winter’s white, as angels cry.
Walking by the river.
It was that kind of day
With the Spring Sun soft and warm
There was a kind of energy
That moved within my form
I could have walked the whole day long
As I felt me, natures pull
Oh Lord those river trails are beautiful.
I passed a group of roos
Who were grazing by the river
Some Parrots screeched above my head
And set my heart a quiver
And as those creatures gave their calls
A Kookaburra laughed
Oh how I love to walk that river path.
It was that kind of day
That you’d like to last for years
With the country air rich in my lungs
And my mind all calm and clear
I could have walked until I dropped
Along that river trail
Feeling good and living in the now.
16 September 2004
below the boughs. . .
Beginning a new spring with bitter sweet
memories of the past of romps in rye
of thimble sized strawberry perfect treats...
children dripping with bountiful surprise
with sugary tart rhubarb pies and cream.
oh, they were and are, honeyed dreams of springtime.
When our cheeks were pink and blossoms redeemed
The garden, ours, or the farmer's near bye
gave us mystery as we planted each seed.
Ah, sunflowers as high as the blue sky!
What joy, what a gift each spring anew
with children young and old blooming beaucoup!
So sweet a kiss
The murmuring tunes of Spring
In the fragrant breath of night
Hums within my slumbering ears.
Like the whispering trees dancing
In the softest dews descending
From the vapours of the skies
When the soothing night
Was young with the glimmering moon of May.
The poor labouring clouds expanded wide
In the muted distance ripe with coldness
While the storming of the Eastern wind
Drifted through the blossoming fields
Graced by the sultry springs in the lulling hours.
I pulled the weary drapes
When the night grew old with silence
From a crystal window
Mirrored against the dumb fields
Black with the night.
A soft mist exudes the dead wind
Curled around the nodding branches.
Then I stealed away to the vacant spot
Where a crackling fire
Invaded the mournful breath of silence.
Lipsing sounds intrudes the night
Upon the quiet slopes and verdant span
Where the blossoms gently bow
Kissing soft the silver spray
Fluttering in the starry distance.
There sauntered I
Under the gladsome sky
To pluck a cherry from its stem
Outstretched beneath the sobbing moon
That in the dawning misty hours
That silver orb of light expires
When the sun had greet the day
With a golden sigh!
nature sings softly her lively recital
everything is glorious and looks vital
the swans exhibit courtship behavior
movements weary tiles for a spring paviour
thrushes chitter their earliest symphony
birdseed germinates and outspreads spring widely
two newts show a beautiful mating dance
strawberry plants use their early spring chance
a show of new born green just above the ground
alders pollen causing sneezing peoples' sound
few snowdrops, celandine, white dead nettle
and hazel trees show leaves and huge mettle
appetite dictates this walk with our dog
a craved annual entry in our blog
at length awaited while walking and watching
dozens of reasons for thinking and talking
the artificial Christmas tree just packed
the baubles and the glass peak safely wrapped
a large cup of hot chocolate a good mate
served forthwith stale Christmas cookies on a plate
BRIDAL DRESS FOR THE HAWTHORN TREE
In the church garden fair,
One glorious May day near the ides -
Blossom on gown and hair
Flowing, floating down her sides,
Bosom and bouquet - the bride’s
Glowing in the warm spring embrace
Of her golden groom. She flowers
With bloom on her cheeks and face;
Then, in light petalled showers,
She fills the wood’s fragrant bowers:
Blossom-confetti litters and turns
To white the path through her roots unseen.
Then the hawthorn tree returns
Again to her everyday working green -
From her role as May Queen.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .
The hawthorn tree in bloom with white flowers in spring is a beautiful
sight, but lasts only a short time, like a wedding celebration.
Hawthorn trees are known as May trees, and they appear in the proverb
“Cast ne’er a clout till May is out.” Many people think this means
you must keep wearing winter clothers till the end of the month of May,
but it really means until the May tree’s blossom-flowers are out.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck 2 February 2012
Entered in Francine Roberts's Contest "English quintain a spring day"
Willie wagtail wakes the morning
With his song outside my room
He tells me that the day is dawning
And sings away all shades of gloom.
Lovely bird, back black and shiny
With his belly creamy white
He sits there on a roof so finely
Giving my Soul sweet delight
‘Morning’s here’ his song is singing
Every note so loud and clear
As his song to me is bringing
A feeling oh, so sweet and dear.
26 August 2013 @ 0657hrs.