Nature poems
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The Shipman's Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 204r}}¶Here bigynneth the Shipmannes tale A Marchant whilom / dwelled at Seint Denys That riche was / for which men helde hym wys A wyf he hadde / of excellent beautee And compaignable / and reuelous was she Which is a thyng/ that cau{s}eth moore di{s}pence Than worth / is al the cheere and reuerence That men hem doon / at fe{s}tes and at daunces Swiche salutacions / and contenances Pa{ss}en / as dooth a shadwe vp on the wal But wo is hym / that payen moot for al The sely hou{s}bonde / algate he moot paye He moot vs clothe / and he moot vs arraye Al for his owene wor{s}hip / richely In which array / we dauncen iolily And if
þt
he noght may /
per
The Pardoner's Introduction, Prologue, and Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 195r}}¶The myry talkyng/ of the hoo{s}t/ to the Phi{s}cienOure hoo{s}t gan to swere / as he were woodHarrow quod he / by nayles and by bloodThis was a fals cherl / and a fals Iu{s}ti{s}eAs shameful deeth / as herte may deuy{s}eCome to thi{s}e Iuges / and hir aduocatzAlgate this sely mayde / is slayn allasAllas / to deere boghte she beauteeWherfore I seye alday /
þt
men may {s}eThat yiftes of ffortune / and of natureBeen cau{s}e of deeth / to many a creatureOf bothe yiftes /
þt
The General Prologue from the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 2r}}Here bygynneth the Book{/} of the tales of Can
ter
buryWhan that Aueryll
with
Nature's Epitaph
© William Herbert Carruth
Who knows where the graveyard is Where the fox and the eagle lie?Who has seen the obsequies Of the red deer when they die?
The Man-hater, A Song
© Henry Carey
IOf an inconstant, fickle Nature,Deceitful, and Conceited too,Boasting of more than he can do?
The Indian Gone!
© Canning Josiah Dean
By night I saw the Hunter's moon Slow gliding in the placid sky;Her lustre mocked the sun at noon -- I asked myself the reason why?And straightway came the sad reply: She shines as she was wont to doTo aid the Indian's aiming eye, When by her light he strung his bow, But where is he?
Beside the ancient flood I strayed, Where dark traditions mark the shore;With wizzard vision I essayed Into the misty past to pore
A Wife’s Protest
© Ada Cambridge
##. From child to girl I grew,And thought no thought, and heard no word That was not pure and true.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Third
© George Gordon Byron
I Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smil'd, And then we parted--not as now we part, But with a hope
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Fourth
© George Gordon Byron
I A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!
II Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was; her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXV
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A heavy heart, Belovèd, have I borneFrom year to year until I saw thy face,And sorrow after sorrow took the placeOf all those natural joys as lightly wornAs the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turnBy a beating heart at dance-time
Sonnets from the Portuguese: X
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeedAnd worthy of acceptation
