Nature poems

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The Castle of Indolence: Canto I

© James Thomson

The Castle hight of Indolence,And its false luxury;Where for a little time, alas!We liv'd right jollily.

To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil's Death

© Alfred Tennyson

Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion's lofty temples robed in fire,Ilion falling, Rome arising, wars, and filial faith, and Dido's pyre;

Locksley Hall Sixty Years After

© Alfred Tennyson

Late, my grandson! half the morning have I paced these sandy tracts,Watch'd again the hollow ridges roaring into cataracts,

In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 56

© Alfred Tennyson

"So careful of the type?" but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, "A thousand types are gone:I care for nothing, all shall go.

In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 131

© Alfred Tennyson

O living will that shalt endure When all that seems shall suffer shock, Rise in the spiritual rock,Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure,

In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII [all 133 poems]

© Alfred Tennyson

[Preface] Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace,Believing where we cannot prove;

Of the Death of Sir T. W. The Elder

© Henry Howard

Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;Such profit he by envy could obtain.

Correspondences

© Sturm Frank Pearce

In Nature's temple living pillars rise,And words are murmured none have understood,And man must wander through a tangled woodOf symbols watching him with friendly eyes.

Woodbine Willie

© Studdert Kennedy Geoffrey Anketell

They gave me this name like their nature, Compacted of laughter and tears,A sweet that was born of the bitter, A joke that was torn from the years

Nameless Pain

© Stoddard Elizabeth

I should be happy with my lot:A wife and mother -- is it notEnough for me to be content?What other blessing could be sent?

Just where the Treasury's marble front Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations;Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont To throng for trade and last quotations;Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold Outrival, in the ears of people,The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled From Trinity's undaunted steeple,--

Even there I heard a strange, wild strain Sound high above the modern clamor,Above the cries of greed and gain, The curbstone war, the auction's hammer;And swift, on Music's misty ways, It led, from all this strife for millions,To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians