Nature poems
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Pascal's Wager
© Hall Kate
'If God does not exist, one will lose nothing by believing in him, whileif he does exist, one will lose everything by not believing.'-- Blaise Pascal
Caelica: Sonnet 22
© Fulke Greville
I, with whose colours Myra dress'd her head, I, that ware posies of her own hand-making,I, that mine own name in the chimneys read By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking: Must I look on, in hope time coming may With change bring back my turn again to play?
I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found A garland sweet, with true-love knots in flowers,Which I to wear about mine arm was bound, That each of us might know that all was ours: Must I now lead an idle life in wishes, And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes?
I, that did wear the ring her mother left, I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed,I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft, I, who did make her blush when I was named: Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked, Watching with sighs till dead love be awaked?
I, that, when drowsy Argus fell asleep, Like jealousy o'erwatched with desire,Was even warned modesty to keep, While her breath, speaking, kindled Nature's fire: Must I look on a-cold, while others warm them? Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?
Was it for this that I might Myra see Washing the water with her beauties white?Yet would she never write her love to me
At the College
© Greene Richard
Serpentine, the path unwinds its innocencefrom building to building in flickering shadewhere my students feed lazy raccoons muffins
The Flying Fish
© Gray John Henry
Magnae Deus potentiaequi fertili natos aquapartim relinquis gurgitipartim levas in aera.
Confessio Amantis, Book III: The Tale of Apollonius of Tyre
© John Gower
Appolinus his leve tok,To God and al the lond betokWith al the poeple long and brod,That he no lenger there abod
The Deserted Village, A Poem
© Oliver Goldsmith
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain,Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd:Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!How often have I paus'd on every charm,The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,The never-failing brook, the busy mill,The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!How often have I blest the coming day,When toil remitting lent its turn to play,And all the village train, from labour free,Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;While many a pastime circled in the shade,The young contending as the old survey'd;And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;The dancing pair that simply sought renownBy holding out to tire each other down:The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the place;The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like theseWith sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please:These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charms--but all these charms are fled
The Rising Village
© Oliver Goldsmith
Thou dear companion of my early years,Partner of all my boyish hopes and fears,To whom I oft addressed the youthful strain,And sought no other praise than thine to gain;Who oft hast bid me emulate his fameWhose genius formed the glory of our name;Say, when thou canst, in manhood's ripened age,With judgment scan the more aspiring page,Wilt thou accept this tribute of my lay,By far too small thy fondness to repay?Say, dearest Brother, wilt thou now excuseThis bolder flight of my adventurous muse? If, then, adown your cheek a tear should flowFor Auburn's Village, and its speechless woe;If, while you weep, you think the
Similar Cases
© Gilman Charlotte Anna Perkins
There was once a little animal, No bigger than a fox,And on five toes he scampered Over Tertiary rocks
Sistrum
© Fuller Margaret
Triune, shaping, restless power,Life-flow from life's natal hour,No music chords are in thy sound;By some thou'rt but a rattle found;Yet, without thy ceaseless motion,To ice would turn their dead devotion
To Sir Toby,
© Philip Morin Freneau
." The motions of his spirit are black as night, ." And his affections dark as Erebus.." SHAKESPEARE.
To Mr. Blanchard, the Celebrated Aeronaut
© Philip Morin Freneau
Nil Mortalibus ard unum lestCoelum ipsum petimus stuttistra. HORACE.
XII Mon. February [1746] hath xxviii days.
© Benjamin Franklin
Man's rich with little, were his Judgment true,Nature is frugal, and her Wants are few;Those few Wants answer'd, bring sincere Delights,But Fools create themselves new Appetites
Fragment in Imitation of Wordsworth
© Fanshawe Catherine Maria
There is a river clear and fair, 'Tis neither broad nor narrow;It winds a little here and there --It winds about like any hare;And then it takes as straight a courseAs on the turnpike road a horse, Or through the air an arrow
Hymn: Sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument, April 19, 1836
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
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.
My Mind to me a Kingdom Is
© Sir Edward Dyer
My mind to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I findThat it excels all other bliss Which God or nature hath assign'd.Though much I want that most would have,Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
