19 Spring Poems

Enjoy these short spring poems. Let the poems remind you that spring is a time of renewal.

One of the best times of the year, Spring! Enjoy these short poems expressing the Poet's views about Spring. Our very first and best thoughts of spring are ones of life. Everything seems to come alive in the spring. It is a joyous and wonderful time of the year.

Short Poems   /   Poems About The Seasons    /   Spring Poems - related: Spring Quotes

  1. Spring Greeting
    Poet: James Henry Thomas

    Lo! the winter now is past;
    Spring comes riding in at last,
    With her healthful, balmy breeze,
    Greeting birds and budding trees.

    List! I hear her gay "Ha! ha!"
    Ringing through the meadows far,
    Getting everything in tune.
    Budding trees for shade in June.

    She has tuned the atmosphere
    With her season of the year;
    Light and gracefully she steps.
    Winning everything she helps.

    Winter tried to keep her 'way.
    Till the near approach of May;
    But the sun's hot rays forbade —
    And have many glad hearts made.

    E'en the ground-hog has come out
    Of his burrow with a shout,
    For his shadow failed to show,
    As it did six weeks ago.

    Gentle Spring, why lingered thou?
    Thou delayed the farmers' plow;
    'T is upon thee we depend
    For a happy harvest end.

    Breathe thou now upon the earth,
    And she will give gentle birth
    To more smiling buds and flowers,
    Making glad these hearts of ours.

  2. Smile Of Spring
    Poet: John Greenleaf Whittier

    A beautiful and happy girl,
    With step as light as summer air.
    Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl,
    Shadowed by many a careless curl
    Of unconnned and flowing hair;
    A seeming child in every thing.
    Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms,
    As Nature wears the smile of Spring
    When sinking into Summer's arms.

  3. Spring
    Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

    Velvet hills on every hand —
    Nature broods o'er vale and rand;
    Water lilies grace each pond —
    Poppies deck the fields beyond.

    Mountain-peak, with hoary head,
    Purple robes o'er him are spread —
    Towers in grandeur — awe instills —
    Father of the lesser hills.

    Leave your carking cares behind,
    Poor are those to Nature blind;
    Winter gone — all's new in Spring —
    With the birds exultant sing.

  4. Spring
    Poet: William Cullen Bryant

    The country ever has a lagging Spring,
    Waiting for May to call its violets forth,
    And June its roses- showers and sunshine bring,
    Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;
    To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
    And one by one the singing-birds come back.

    Within the city's bounds the time of flowers
    Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day,
    Such as full often, for a few bright hours,
    Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May,
    Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom-
    And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom.

  5. Spring Flowers
Poet - Louise Seymour Jones
Spring flowers are long since gone.
Summer's bloom hangs limp on every terrace.
The gardener's feet drag a bit on the dusty path
and the hinge in his back is full of creaks.

  6. The Lawn Mower
    Poet: Sarah Barber

    When we finally flip it over
    the fireflies are out. The neighbor boy
    has had his stitches in so I can finally admit
    I think it is all fantastic: the suck
    of the spark plug undone, the stuck blade
    bent into the guard, and the sound
    of the hammer’s head reshaping the metal.
    In this our suburban Eden we've only
    a teenage Adam too dreamy to manage
    his motorized scythe and silly Eve leaving
    her coffee cups and plastic plant pots
    behind in the grass. Though it's a long way
    from a fall, this spring's first disaster,
    I did like the thin thread of red
    on his upper lip, and I like my mower
    turned over among the glowworms,
    a monstrous dandelion as unnatural as we
    are, out in a garden, with our untidy
    golds and our dangerous sharps.

  7. Early Spring
    Poet: William Wordsworth

    Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
    The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
    And ’tis my faith that every flower
    Enjoys the air it breathes.

    The birds around me hopped and played,
    Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
    But the least motion which they made
    It seemed a thrill of pleasure...

  8. A Welcome To Spring
    by Mary Snell

    Cold winter is gone with his ice and his snow,
    And hushed are the rude winds that fiercely did blow,
    Fair spring has returned with her soft frequent gales,
    That steal o'er the mountains and sigh through the vales.

    How gladly we hail the return of the spring,
    Fair prospects, gay sunshine, her presence doth bring;
    The fields are arrayed in their verdure once more,
    Good bye to cold winter and rude tempests roar.

    The streamlets go singing and murmuring on,
    They seem to rejoice that the winter is gone;
    And nature has spread her soft carpet again
    Of emerald green over valley and plain.

    Away through the fields to the hill tops repair,
    In the bright rosy morning, and breathe the fresh air,
    And join with the birds in full chorus to greet
    The beautiful spring time so balmy and sweet.

    Fresh beauty is scattered profusely around,
    All nature springs into new life at a bound;
    The lambs skip and sport‌ in their frolicsome glee,
    The birds and the beasts seem as happy as we.

    The earth seems to smile and the sky looks so blue,
    We feel as if life was beginning anew;
    The aged and young all rejoice to behold
    The beautiful spring its rare treasures unfold.

    A voice softly whispers be grateful to God,
    Who pours out his blessings so freely abroad;
    Then gratitude flows from our hearts as we sing,
    And hail with delight the bright beautiful spring.

  9. The naked earth is warm with Spring,<br>
And with green grass and bursting trees<br>
Leans to the sun's kiss glorying,<br>
And quivers in the sunny breeze.<br>
Julian Grenfell

  10. Sweet May hath come to love us,
    Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
    And through the blue heavens above us
    The very clouds move on.
    Heinrich Heine

  11. Spring forever appears
    the soothing music part
    of lyrics unspoken.
    It thaws the frozen fears,
    mends the wounded heart
    that Winter has broken.
    Aarno Davidson

  12. The year's at the spring,
    And day's at the morn;
    Morning's at seven;
    The hill-side's dew-pearled;
    The lark's on the wing;
    The snail's on the thorn;
    God's in his Heaven -
    All's right with the world!
    Robert Browning

  13. I've banished Winter, saith the Spring,
    Awake! arise, ye flowers!
    Brisk breezes blow,
    Bright sunshine glow,
    And rouse the young Year's powers.
    Henry James Slack

  14. Nearly Ready
    Poet: Mary Mapes Dodge

    In the snowing and the blowing,
    In the cruel sleet,
    Little flowers begin their growing
    Far beneath our feet.
    Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,
    "Darlings, are you here?"
    Till they answer, "We are nearly,
    Nearly ready, dear."

    "Where is Winter, with his snowing?
    Tell us, Spring," they say.
    Then she answers, "He is going,
    Going on his way.
    Poor old Winter does not love you;
    But his time is past;
    Soon my birds shall sing above you,
    Set you free at last."

  15. The Lawyer's Invocation To Spring
    Poet: Henry Howard Brownell

    Whereas, on certain boughs and sprays
    Now divers birds are heard to sing,
    And sundry flowers their heads upraise.
    Hail to the coming on of Spring!

    The songs of those said birds arouse
    The memory of our youthful hours,
    As green as those said sprays and boughs.
    As fresh and sweet as those said flowers.

    The birds aforesaid - happy pairs -
    Love, 'mid the aforesaid boughs, inshrines
    In freehold nests; themselves their heirs,
    Administrators, and assigns.

    O busiest term of Cupid's Court,
    Where tender plaintiffs actions bring, -
    Season of frolic and of sport,
    Hail, as aforesaid, coming Spring!

  16. The Question
    Poet: Percy Bysske Shelley

    I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way,
    Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring,
    And gentle odors led my steps astray,
    Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring
    Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
    Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling
    Its green arms round the bosom of the stream,
    But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.

    There grew pied windflowers and violets,
    Daisies those pearled Arcturi of the earth.
    The constellated flower that never sets;
    Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth
    The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets
    Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears,
    When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.

    And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,
    Green cowbind and the moonlight coloured May,
    And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine
    Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day;
    And wild roses, and ivy serpentine.
    With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray;
    And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold,
    Fairer than any wakened eyes behold.

    And nearer to the river's trembling edge
    There grew broad flag-flowers,purple prankt with white.
    And starry river buds among the sedge.
    And floating water-lilies broad and bright,
    Which lit the oak that over hung the hedge
    With moonlight-beams of their own watery light;
    And bulrushes and reeds of such deep green
    As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.

    Methought that of these visionary flowers
    I made a nosegay, bound in such a way
    That the same hues, which in their natural bowers
    Were mingled or opposed, the like array
    Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours
    Within my hand — and then, elate and gay,
    I hastened to the spot whence I had come,
    That I might there present it! — O! to whom?

  17. Spring Has Come
    Poet: Oliver Wendell Holmes

    The sunbeams, lost for half a year,
    Slant through my pane their morning rays;
    For dry northwesters cold and clear.
    The east blows in its thin blue haze.

    And first the snowdrop's bells are seen.
    Then close against the sheltering wall
    The tulip's horn of dusky green,
    The peony's dark unfolding ball.

    The golden-chaliced crocus burns;
    The long narcissus-blades appear;
    The cone-beaked hyacinth returns
    To light her blue-flamed chandelier.

    The willow's whistling lashes, wrung
    By the wild winds of gusty March,
    With sallow leaflets lightly strung,
    Are swaying by the tufted larch.

    The elms have robed their slender spray,
    With full-blown flower and embryo leaf;
    Wide o'er the clasping arch of day
    Soars like a cloud their hoary chief.

    See the proud tulip's flaunting cup,
    That flames in glory for an hour, -
    Behold it withering, - then look up, -
    How meek the forest monarch's flower!

    When wake the violets. Winter dies;
    When sprout the elm-buds. Spring is near;
    When lilacs blossom, Summer cries
    "Bud, little roses! Spring is here!"

    The windows blush with fresh bouquets,
    Cut with the May-dew on their lips;
    The radish all its bloom displays,
    Pink as Aurora's finger-tips.

    Nor less the flood of light that showers
    On beauty's changed corolla-shades, -
    The walks are gay as bridal bowers
    With rows of many petalled maids.

  18. Spring Bugaboo
    Poet: MT

    Time drags by on leaden feet,
    Your points of thinking powers don’t meet.
    Your head sinks low upon your chest,
    You’d sell your soul to get some rest.
    Your eyes are dull, you stare in space,
    An obscure look spreads o’er your face
    No bright alert words come from you,
    Your gay remarks are all too few.
    In case you are wondering what’s the matter,
    Spring fever’s got you in a dather.

  19. Beautiful Spring
    Poet: Daniel S. Warner

    Ah, gentle spring, thy balmy breeze,
    New chanting mid the budding trees,
    A glorious resurrection sings!
    And on thy soft, ethereal wings
    Sweet nectar from ten thousand flowers,
    That bloom in nature's happy bowers,
    Thou dost as holy incense bring
    To Him who sheds the beams of spring.

    Far in the South thy bloom appeared,
    And all our journey homeward cheered;
    A thousand miles in sweet embrace,
    We northward held an even race;
    Or if by starts we did outrun
    Thy even tenor from the sun,
    Erelong we blessed thy coming tread
    And quaffed the odors thou didst spread.

    O brightest, sweetest of the year!
    When all is vocal with thy cheer,
    Thy lily cups and roses red
    With us some tear-drops also shed.
    The cherry-trees, in shrouds of white,
    Bring back to mind a mournful sight -
    A coffined brother 'neath the bloom,
    Just ere they bore him to the tomb.

    Ah, yes, thou sweet, beguiling spring,
    Of thee my inmost heart would sing.
    "The time of love," all bards agree
    To sing- in merry notes to thee.
    Yea, such thou art, and happy they
    "Who walk in love's delightful day,
    Along the path thy flakes have strewn,
    And know indeed her constant boon.

    But what of him who walks alone,
    With past love fled and turned to stone?
    Shall not the springtide music's roll
    Mock withered joys and sting the soul?
    Not in the heart embalmed in love
    Transported from the worlds above,
    Nor seasons, no, nor else can bring
    Heart-aches where only God is King;
    That soul an endless spring enjoys
    Where life the will of God employs.
    He mid the fields of bliss may tread,
    And feast on joys that long have fled,
    By sacred memories' glowing trace
    More than the heart untouched by grace,
    Can drink from full fruition's stream,
    Or paint in fancy's wildest dream.

    O God! thou, art the life of spring,
    The Source of all the seasons bring,
    The soul of all the joys we know,
    The Fountain whence our pleasures flow.
    While nature wakes from winter's sleep,
    And gentle clouds effusive weep,
    We join creation's grateful lays,
    And celebrate our Maker's praise.

  20. Spring
    Poet: Ebenezer Elliott

    Again the violet of our early days
    Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun,
    And kindles into fragrance at his blaze;
    The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done,
    Talk of tomorrow's cowslips, as they run.
    Wild apple, thou art blushing into bloom!
    Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed thorn!
    Wake, buried lily! spirit, quit thy tomb!
    And thou shade-loving hyacinth, be born!
    Then, haste, sweet rose! sweet woodbine, hymn the morn,
    Whose dewdrops shall illume with pearly light
    Each grassy blade that thick embattled stands
    From sea to sea, while daisies infinite
    Uplift in praise their little glowing hands
    O'er every hill that under heaven expands.

  21. Spring Comes
    Poet: Anna K. Thomas

    She comes! she comes! the gentle spring
    With all her princely train!
    Her magic wands choice blessings bring
    Back to our hearts again.

    She comes! she comes! the gentle spring!
    Her swift approach we hear,
    And see her bright new life begin,
    Her graceful form appear.

    Her silv'ry voices, low and sweet,
    Enchant the heart and ear;
    In ev'ry nook her charms we meet,
    Her fragrant breath wafts near.

    We feel the touch of her kind hand,
    Her kisses pure and soft;
    She spreads her emerald robes o'er land
    Her tresses hang aloft.

    Oh, welcome! welcome, lovely spring!
    Thy tender smile we greet.
    Ten thousand bounties here you bring,
    And lay them at our feet!

    On ev'ry living shrub and tree
    You fling your verdure down;
    These, fondly draped, yield back to thee,
    Bequeathing thee a crown.

    Thou'rt lithe and beautiful and fair,
    The year's glad queen and good,
    Bedecked with glories, rich and rare
    Thy blushing maidenhood.

    Thy Maker calls thee forth at will
    Away from southern haunts,
    And bids thee his good pleasure fill;
    His laws on thee he plants.

    O Spring-tide! child of peace and love,
    From Father's bosom sent,
    We drink thy joys drawn from above,
    And breathe thy life thus lent.

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Garden Quotes    Garden Quotes

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