WEATHER POEMS
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I Guess It's Over
I guess they were right,
when they said the world isn't all black and white.
Nothing lasts forever,
but I thought we'd stay together
.....
Duwayne Frieslaar
Wilderness
The clutter and the clatter,
The morning dew drops drip,
The stormy weather,
The taste in each coffee sip.
.....
Az Mo
Schizophrenic Love
Man must make run the 'errands'
To get rid off the noise that invades
Shocking nights and knocking brains
A gentle caress with feeble hands
.....
Aejaz Mehboobi
The Truth
It wasn't time that stuck still but myself
No tea, no nothing but the weather.
You take a different shape in hell,
A finer fire than you see in a preacher.
.....
Az Mo
All For Me
All for me the bumble-bee
Drones his song in the perfect weather;
And, just on purpose to sing to me,
Thrush and blue-bird came North together.
.....
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Morning Express
Along the wind-swept platform, pinched and white,
The travellers stand in pools of wintry light,
Offering themselves to morn's long, slanting arrows.
The train's due; porters trundle laden barrows.
.....
Siegfried Sassoon
The Old Huntsman
I've never ceased to curse the day I signed
A seven years' bargain for the Golden Fleece.
'Twas a bad deal all round; and dear enough
It cost me, what with my daft management,
.....
Siegfried Sassoon
Two Minds
Your mind and mine are such great lovers they
Have freed themselves from cautious human clay,
And on wild clouds of thought, naked together
They ride above us in extreme delight;
.....
Sara Teasdale
The Snail
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
Together.
.....
William Cowper
A Fable
A raven, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And, on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted
.....
William Cowper
Venus And Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
.....
William Shakespeare
Arcady Unheeding
Shepherds go whistling on their way
In the spring season of the year;
One watches weather-signs of day;
One of his maid most dear
.....
Siegfried Sassoon
Adventure
Out of the wood my White Knight came:
His eyes were bright with a bitter flame,
As I clung to his stirrup leather;
For I was only a dreaming lad,
.....
Robert Service
Bob White
I see you, on the zigzag rails,
You cheery little fellow!
While purple leaves are whirling down,
And scarlet, brown, and yellow.
.....
George Cooper
The Green Linnet
Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of spring's unclouded weather,
.....
William Wordsworth
The Old Playhouse
You planned to tame a swallow, to hold her
In the long summer of your love so that she would forget
Not the raw seasons alone, and the homes left behind, but
Also her nature, the urge to fly, and the endless
.....
Kamala Das
Satire I
Away thou fondling motley humorist,
Leave mee, and in this standing woodden chest,
Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye
In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye;
.....
John Donne
April Midnight?
Side by side through the streets at midnight,
Roaming together,
Through the tumultuous night of London,
In the miraculous April weather.
.....
Arthur Symons
The Odyssey: Book 09
And Ulysses answered, “King Alcinous, it is a good thing to hear a
bard with such a divine voice as this man has. There is nothing better
or more delightful than when a whole people make merry together,
with the guests sitting orderly to listen, while the table is loaded
.....
Homer
Like A Vocation
Not as that dream Napoleon, rumour's dread and centre,
Before who's riding all the crowds divide,
Who dedicates a column and withdraws,
Nor as that general favourite and breezy visitor
.....
W. H. Auden
Directive
Back out of all this now too much for us,
Back in a time made simple by the loss
Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off
Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather,
.....
Robert Frost
Letter To Maria Gisborne
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;
.....
Percy Bysshe Shelley
To Think Of Time
To think of time, of all that retrospection!
To think of to-day, and the ages continued henceforward!
Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue?
.....
Walt Whitman
A Song Of Life
In the rapture of life and of living,
I lift up my heart and rejoice,
And I thank the great Giver for giving
The soul of my gladness a voice.
.....
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Ant And The Cricket
A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing
Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring,
Began to complain, when he found that at home
His cupboard was empty and winter was come.
.....
Anonymous
Beauty And Files
I don't know what is the vice I 'er own
Yet, forbidden stars'-light can't shed my light
Mine own is all too heavy, I swen
So a ministerial marked the school
.....
Pijush Biswas
Lament
The sting of bees took away my father
who walked in a swarming shroud of wings
and scorned the tick of the falling weather.
.....
Sylvia Plath
Parting
We embrace.
Rich cloth under my fingers
While yours touch poor fabric.
A quick embrace
.....
Bertolt Brecht
Tree At My Window
Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
.....
Robert Frost
Colloquy
In the broken light, in owl weather,
Webs on the lawn where the leaves end,
I took the thin moon and the sky for cover
To pick the cat's brains and descend
.....
Weldon Kees
Fair Weather
This level reach of blue is not my sea;
Here are sweet waters, pretty in the sun,
Whose quiet ripples meet obediently
A marked and measured line, one after one.
.....
Dorothy Parker
An Octopus
of ice. Deceptively reserved and flat,
it lies “in grandeur and in mass”
beneath a sea of shifting snow-dunes;
dots of cyclamen-red and maroon on its clearly defined
.....
Marianne Moore
Contemplations
Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,
When Phœbus wanted but one hour to bed,
The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
Were gilded o're by his rich golden head.
.....
Anne Bradstreet