Weather poems
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Hay
© Ted Hughes
The grass is happy
To run like the sea, to be glossed like a minks fur
By polishing wind.
Her heart is the weather.
She loves nobody
Least of all the farmer who leans on the gate.
Stanzas
© George Gordon Byron
Could Love for ever
Run like a river,
And Time's endeavour
Be tried in vain
The Brothers
© Madison Julius Cawein
Not far from here, it lies beyond
That low-hilled belt of woods. We'll take
This unused lane where brambles make
A wall of twilight, and the blond
Brier-roses pelt the path and flake
The margin waters of a pond.
This is No Case of Petty Right or Wrong
© Edward Thomas
This is no case of petty right or wrong
That politicians or philosophers
After A Journey
© Thomas Hardy
I come to interview a Voiceless ghost;
Whither, O whither will its whim now draw me?
Two Minds
© Sara Teasdale
Your mind and mine are such great lovers they
Have freed themselves from cautious human clay,
The Knight-Errant
© Virna Sheard
Keen in his blood ran the old mad desire
To right the world's wrongs and champion truth;
Deep in his eyes shone a heaven-lit fire,
And royal and radiant day-dreams of youth!
Le Monocle de Mon Oncle
© Wallace Stevens
Mother of heaven, regina of the clouds,
O sceptre of the sun, crown of the moon,
The Long Road West
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
Once I heard a Hobo, singing by the tie-trail,
Squatting by the red rail rusty with the dew:
The Three-Decker
© Rudyard Kipling
Full thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail.
It cost a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail;
But, spite all modern notions, I found her first and best -
The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest.
God Made This Day For Me
© Edgar Albert Guest
This is jes' my style o' weather-sunshine floodin' all the place,
An' the breezes from the eastward blowin' gently on my face;
An' the woods chock full o' singin' till you'd think birds never had
A single care to fret 'em or a grief to make 'em sad.
Oh, I settle down contented in the shadow of a tree,
An' tell myself right proudly that the day was made fer me.
He Loves And He Rides Away
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
'Twas in that island summer where
They spin the morning gossamer,
Le Grenier
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Je viens revoir l'asile ou ma jeunesse
De la misere a subi les lecons.
Letter To Maria Gisborne
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The spider spreads her webs, whether she be
In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;
The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leaves
His winding sheet and cradle ever weaves;
Bess
© William Stafford
Ours are the streets where Bess first met her
cancer. She went to work every day past the
Peggy
© Robert Burns
O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my love is like a melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
The Old Leaven
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Maurice:
No, Mark, I'm not so easily cross'd;
'Tis true that I've had a run
Of bad luck lately; indeed, I've lost;
Well! somebody else has won.
