Popular Short Nature Poems:

1. Contrast
   Poet: Douglas Malloch
   
   Nature loves neither silences nor noise.
   She has her silence and she has her sound.
   Yet all the melody that she employs
   But serves to make her silence more profound.
   
   The sweeping desert, yellow, bare and mute.
   Seems deader for a wheeling vulture's scream.
   The single quaver of a lonely lute
   But makes the night seem nearer to a dream.
   
   The sea is silent far from shores unseen,
   Save where a ripple tumbles to abyss;
   As whitened water makes the green more green.
   The day is calmer for the bubble's hiss.
   
   From such as these I learn the forest's charm -
   'Tis not its silence, silent though it be;
   It is its sound unpoisoned with alarm,
   Its whisper like the whisper o£ the sea.
   
   Shouting nor silence, neither enters here -
   Only the melody of far-off things.
   A drifting cloud makes skies more fair appear.
   The wood is stiller for the whir of wings.




2. The Psalm Of The Woodsman
   By William Steward Gordon
   
   Blessed is the man that loveth Nature,
   For he shall never be lonely!
   Yea, though he loseth himself in the forest
   He is still in the midst of friends.
   
   The trees stretch their arms in protection;
   They invite him under their shelter.
   Their roots take hold of the mountain
   Like the stakes of a tent set firmly.
   
   The moss on the bark is a compass
   To tell him whither he goeth;
   It points his direction as surely
   As the guide-board out on the highway.
   
   The winds and the clouds are his servants;
   He knoweth their course in the season.
   Yea, the tree turns its face from the tempest.
   So the burden of branches is southward.
   
   The beasts and the birds are his comrades;
   He knoweth their signs and their habits.
   He knoweth their challenge of anger.
   And their milder language of mating.
   
   The rivulet calls him with laughter.
   And the pool is his only mirror.
   He looks, and the beard on his bosom
   Is blended with moss on the cedars.
   
   He knoweth the roots that are wholesome,
   And the edible barks and the berries —
   The camas that holdeth no poison,
   The celery and rice of the lakelets.
   
   Yea, blessed the man of the mountains!
   And thrice blessed is he if he follows
   The trail that leads over the summit
   On the highway to regions immortal.
   
   The years hang as light on his shoulders
   As the grizzled wings of the eagle.
   They are only fanciful burdens,
   For they help him to fly away.
   
   His is the calling courageous:
   He blazed the trail for his children.
   His footprints are waymarks of safety
   And his bones are a guide to the living.


   More Tree Poems



3. The City
   Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
   
   I own the charms of lovely Nature; still,
   In human nature more delight I find.
   Though sweet the murmuring voices of the rill,
   I much prefer the voices of my kind.
   
   I like the roar of cities. In the mart,
   Where busy toilers strive for place and gain,
   I seem to read humanity's great heart,
   And share its hopes, its pleasures, and its pain.
   
   The rush of hurrying trains that cannot wait,
   The tread of myriad feet, all say to me:
   "You are the architect of your own fate;
   Toil on, hope on, and dare to do and be."
   
   I like the jangled music of the loud
   Bold bells; the whistle's sudden shrill reply;
   And there is inspiration in a crowd -
   A magnetism flashed from eye to eye.
   
   My sorrows all seem lightened, and my joys
   Augmented, when the comrade world walks near;
   Close to mankind my soul best keeps its poise.
   Give me the great town's bustle, strife, and noise.
   And let who will, hold Nature's calm more dear.







4. The High Trail
   Poet: Berton Braley
   
   I'm sick of your mobs and machinery,
   I'm weary of second hand thrills,
   I'm tired of your two-by-four scenery,
   Your nice little valleys and hills;
   I want to see peaks that are bare again
   And ragged and rugged and high,
   To know the old tang in the air again
   And the blue of the clear western sky!
   
   Once more in each fibre and fold of me
   I feel the old wonderment brew,
   And again has the spell taken hold of me,
   The spell of the mountains I knew;
   So the city means nothing but slavery,
   And my heart is like lead in my breast,
   And life will be stale and unsavory
   Till I stand on the hills of the west.
   
   Let the homebodies "hobo" and "rover" me,
   Poor plodders, they never can know
   How the fret for the hills has come over me
   And the fever that bids me to go
   Away from traditions gone mouldering,
   Away from the paths overtrod,
   To the place where the mountains are shouldering
   Right up to the Archways of God!


   Poems About Mountains



5. Beauty Still Walketh
   Poet: Alexander Smith
   
   Beauty still walketh on the earth and air
   Our present sunsets are as rich in gold
   As ere the Iliad's music was out-rolled;
   The roses of the Spring are ever fair,
   'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair
   And the deep sea still foams its music old.
   So, if we are at all divinely souled.
   This beauty will unloose our bonds of care.


    Poems about Sunset



6. The Gladness Of Nature
   Poet: William Cullen Bryant
   
   Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
   When our mother Nature laughs around;
   When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
   And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?
   
   There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
   And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
   The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
   And the wilding bee hums merrily by.
   
   The clouds are at play in the azure space,
   And their shadows at play on the bright-green vale,
   And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
   And there they roll on the easy gale.
   
   There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bovver,
   There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
   There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
   And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.
   
   And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
   On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray.
   On the leaping waters and gay young isles;
   Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.




7. Song Of The March Wind
   Poet: Cobb
   
   The March wind blows the snow away,
   And blows away the cold.
   He's not afraid of anything,
   He is so very bold.
   
   He shakes the sleepy trees about.
   And calls for them to wake;
   For April soon will come along
   Their summer gowns to make.
   
   He whistles to the little brooks
   That now with gladness sing.
   And sends them running on their way
   To carry news of spring.



   Poems About The Wind



8. The Healing Power of Nature
   Poet: Leonora Milliken Boss
   
   Far famed the grand old forest,
   As the one whose name it bears;
   Calling, calling to the weary.
   To lay aside all cares.
   
   And come and rest, where Nature
   Her blessed boon can bring,
   Of health and strength and calmness,
   In all and everything.
   
   There is healing in the wildwood.
   Near the cedar and the pine;
   There is healing in the songbird,
   'Tis a tonic, more than wine.
   
   The soughing of the pines can lull you.
   To a quiet few can know,
   For you're nearer to the Father;
   These are gifts he would bestow.
   
   And so, when the grand old forest
   Sends forth a call to you.
   Obey the summons and answer;
   'Tis the least that you can do.
   
   For the renovation and needed rest
   Will be given in hospital here.
   Or, rather, in God's free sunlight,
   Where the cedar and pine are near.







9. The Babbling Brook
   Poet: Mary C. Plummer
   
   Tell me, little babbling brook.
   Of the song you sing
   As you flow through hedge and nook.
   Let your sweet song ring.
   
   I have stood one half an hour.
   Listening to your chatter;
   All that I can understand
   Is just: Splatter, splatter.
   
   You say if I should place my ear
   Near your pretty dimple
   I could hear your lovely song.
   So beautiful and simple.
   
   Yes, now to me it is quite plain
   What a lovely sweet refrain!
   Words are, though today comes rain.
   Sunshine will return again.







10. Symbols
    Poet: Robert Leighton
    
    The breathing flowers, the forest-buds unfurl'd,
    Are not the expanded seedlings that we ween,
    But sweet transfigurations from the world
    That lies within the seen.
    
    For this the type in which God prints His thought —
    This glorious theatre of shifting things;
    And whosoever has its meaning caught,
    For him all Nature sings.
    
    Would'st thou hear Nature's voice? Be one with her,
    In simple purity, perennial youth;
    Her child in wonder, and her worshipper
    In spirit and in truth.
    
    Then will the daisy, from its modest eye,
    Let out its secrets, and the starry scroll
    River and ocean — all of earth or sky —
    Interpret to thy soul.


You may also enjoy our collection of ocean poems



More Butterfly Poems



11. The Streamlet
    Poet: Charles Fenno Hoffman
    
    How silently yon streamlet slides
    From out the twilight-shaded bowers!
    How, soft as sleep, it onward glides
    In sunshine through its dreaming flowers.
    
    That tranquil wave, now turn'd to gold
    Beneath the slowly westering sun,
    It is the same, far on the wold.
    Whose foam this morn we gazed upon.
    
    The leaden sky, the barren waste,
    The torrent we this morning knew,
    How changed are all! as now we haste
    To bid them, with the day, adieu!
    
    Ah! thus should life and love at last
    Grow bright and sweet when death is near:
    May we, our course of trial passed.
    Thus bathed in beauty glide from here!



Read poems about the sky






12. Nature
    Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
    
    As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
    Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
    Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
    And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
    Still gazing at them through the open door,
    Nor wholly reassured and comforted
    By promises of others in their stead,
    Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
    So Nature deals with us, and takes away
    Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
    Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
    Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
    Being too full of sleep to understand
    How far the unknown transcends the what we know.




13. A Prayer To The God Of Nature
    Poet: Frederic Lawrence Knowles
    
    God of the roadside weed,
    Grant I may humbly serve the humblest need.
    
    God of the scarlet rose,
    Give me the beauty that Thy love bestows.
    
    God of the hairy bee,
    Help me to suck deep joys from all I see.
    
    God of the spider's lace,
    Let me, from mine own heart, unwind such grace.
    
    God of the lily's cup,
    Fill me! I hold this empty chalice up.
    
    God of the sea-gull's wing,
    Bear me above each dark and turbulent thing.
    
    God of the watchful owl,
    Help me to see at midnight, like this fowl.
    
    God of the antelope,
    Teach me to scale the highest crags of Hope.
    
    God of the eagle's nest,
    Oh, let me make my eyrie near thy breast!
    
    God of the burrowing mole,
    Let cold earth have no terrors for my soul.
    
    God of the chrysalis,
    Grant that my grave may be a cell of bliss.
    
    God of the butterfly,
    Help me to vanquish Death, although I die.








14. Rain
    Poet: Arthur Linton
    
    Tenderly on the parched brown earth
    The rain falls gently singing,
    And with its freshness, to the dearth
    Of the dry ground, new beauty's birth
    Bringing.
    
    As a friend's face when seen again
    Sets the heart-pulses ringing;
    So the desired delights of rain,
    Joy to the desolate weary grain
    Flinging.
    
    And when its grace has thrilled the ground,
    From that dark grave upspringing
    Its soul within the flowers is found,
    On delicate odours all around
    Winging.


   Poems About Rain



15. The Book Of Nature
    Poet: Keble
    
    There is a book, who runs may read,
    Which heavenly truth imparts.
    And all the lore its scholars need,
    Pure eyes and Christian hearts.
    
    The works of God above, below,
    Within us, and around.
    Are pages in that book to show
    How God himself is found.
    
    The glorious sky, embracing all,
    Is like the Maker's love.
    Wherewith encompassed, great and small
    In peace and order move.
    
    The dew of heaven is like His grace.
    It steals in silence down;
    But where it lights, the favored place.
    By richest fruits is known.
    
    Thou, who hast given me eyes to see
    And love this sight so fair.
    Give me a heart to find out Thee,
    And read Thee everywhere.



    Poems About Leaves



16. The World And I
    Poet: Nelly M. Hutchinson
    
    Whether my heart be glad or no,
    The summers come, the summers go,
    The lanes grow dark with dying leaves,
    Icicles hang beneath the eaves,
    The asters wither to the snow;
    Thus doth the summer end and go,
    Whether my life be glad or no.
    
    Whether my life be sad or no,
    The winters come, the winters go,
    The sunshine plays with baby leaves,
    Swallows build about the eaves,
    The lovely wild flowers bend and blow;
    Thus doth the winter end and go,
    Whether my life be sad or no.
    
    Yet Mother Nature gives to me
    A fond and patient sympathy;
    In my own heart I find the charm
    To make her tender, near, and warm;
    Through summer sunshine, winter snow,
    She clasps me, sad or glad or no.




17. Nature
    Poet: B. E. Warren
    
    Rippling brook and flowing stream
    In the sparkling sunlight gleam,
    Making merry faces beam
    With their gladsome story;
    Soft their music floats away,
    Where the evening zephyrs play,
    Where the siren singers stay
    In their verdant glory.
    
    See blest virgin Nature smile,
    In her queenly robes the while;
    Man of earth she would beguile
    With her flowing tresses.
    Bright her face with blooming flowers,
    Sweet the odor from her bowers,
    Fresh her sparkling April showers,
    Mid her warm caresses.
    
    Hills and valleys robed in green,
    Winding rivers flow between,
    There the rustic rocks are seen
    Where the water splashes;
    On the rising silvery spray,
    Rainbow colors seem to play,
    Painted by the orb of day,
    In the sunlight flashes.
    
    Soft the kisses of her lips,
    Sweet the honeydew she sips,
    From her hand of mercy drips
    Every single blessing.
    With her arms embracing me,
    I am safe as I can be,
    When I come on bended knee,
    Nature's God confessing.




18. Nature's Bedtime
    Poet: Unknown
    
    Now Nature, like a careless child,
    That, sweetly innocent, can view
    No shame in nakedness, disrobes,
    To sleep the long, dark winter through
    And, like the careless child, she, too.
    Fagged out with pleasures of the day.
    Flings down her garments here and there
    For us to put away.







19. Mother Nature
    Poet: Edgar A. Guest
    
    Good, kindly Mother Nature plays
    No favorites but smiles for all
    Who care to tread her pleasant ways
    And listen to the song birds' call.
    The tulips and the violets grow
    For all the world to gaze upon;
    With beauty are the hills aglow
    Not for a few, but everyone.
    
    Her grass grows green for rich and poor.
    For proud and humble, high and low;
    Beside the toiler's cottage door
    Her morning glories sweetly grow.
    In palace or in tenement
    Her sunbeams just as gayly dance;
    No special charm to one is sent.
    No favored few possess her glance.
    
    Her skies are blue for one and all.
    Her flowers for every mortal bloom;
    Her rains upon all creatures fall.
    For all the world is her perfume.
    The rich man gets no sweeter smile
    Than does the ragged barefoot boy;
    Yes, all who live and love the while.
    May Mother Nature's charms enjoy.
    
    Ah, what a lesson we may learn
    From kindly Mother Nature's ways!
    A smiling face we seldom turn
    To strangers, when we meet their gaze.
    A kindly word we seldom speak
    Except unto a favored few.
    And some return we often seek
    For every kindly deed we do.




20. Nature
    Poet: John Greenleaf Whittier
    
    The harp at Nature's advent strung
    Has never ceased to play;
    The song the stars of morning sung
    Has never died away.
    
    And prayer is made, and praise is given
    By all things near and far:
    The ocean looketh up to heaven
    And mirrors every star;
    
    The green earth sends her incense up
    From many a mountain shrine;
    From folded leaf and dewy cup
    She pours her sacred wine;
    
    The blue sky is the temple's arch;
    Its transept, earth and air;
    The music of its starry march,
    The chorus of a prayer:
    
    So Nature keeps the reverent frame
    With which her years began,
    And all her signs and voices shame
    The prayerless heart of man.