Tag: nature poetry

Wind poems, by Rossetti, Stevens, Frost

I love the wind. Love it as long as it’s not so icy cold that it bites your skin (and even then, if I’m in the mood, I find it thrilling). Love it as long as it doesn’t threaten with tremendous gusts (and then, as long as no terrible harm is done, it leaves me awed). The winds I love best, though, are the warm, light breezes–so soft you have to close your eyes to feel them–and the wild winds, the ones that run ahead of the storm, chasing their own tails and blowing your hair every which way at once.

But enough about me and my wind infatuation, here are some poets’ thoughts on the subject:

Image via pixabay/blickpixel

Who Has Seen the Wind?

Christina Rossetti, 1830 – 1894
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

To The Roaring Wind

Wallace Stevens, 1879 – 1955

What syllable are you seeking,
Vocalissimus,
In the distances of sleep?
Speak it.

To the Thawing Wind

Robert Frost1874 – 1963

Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate’er you do tonight,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit’s crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o’er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.

 

Thanks for stopping by and braving the winds with me! Sending you wishes for a weekend full of happy moments and soft breezes!

 

Two Butterflies went out at Noon, Emily Dickinson

In honor of the butterflies we’ve been “raising” (post on them to come), I thought I’d share Two Butterflies went out at Noon, by Emily Dickinson.

Dickinson was born (1830) and died (1886) in Amherst, Massachusetts. She lived in relative isolation throughout her life, although her family provided her with intellectual and emotional companionship. The rare visitors to her family’s home also had a significant impact on her, as can be evinced throughout much of her work. Though she was not publicly recognized for her writing during her lifetime (her first volume of poems being published posthumously), she is considered to have helped create a unique, distinctly “American” poetic voice.

I love Emily Dickinson’s poems, not only for their natural themes, but also for their seeming simplicity which often belies deeper meaning.

Two Butterflies went out at Noon

Emily Dickinson1830 – 1886

Two Butterflies went out at Noon—
And waltzed above a Farm—  
Then stepped straight through the Firmament  
And rested on a Beam—  
   
And then—together bore away 
Upon a shining Sea—  
Though never yet, in any Port—  
Their coming mentioned—be—  
   
If spoken by the distant Bird— 
If met in Ether Sea
By Frigate, or by Merchantman— 
No notice—was—to me—

Thank you for reading! Hope you’ll join me in wishing our two butterflies well as they enter the Firmament!

Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood, by William Cullen Bryant

It’s time for another installment of Feels Friday, since I haven’t had time to catch my breath lately, let alone write something of my own. This week, I’m going old-school with a poem that’s a longtime favorite of mine: Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood, written by William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878).

Bryant was known for writing about nature in his poetry and is probably best remembered for his poem, Thanatopsis (which, I’ll confess, I haven’t read yet). He served as the editor of the New York Evening Post for fifty years, until his death. He was also a human rights activitist, often championing workers, immigrants, and abolition through his writing.

My kind of guy. Now, without further ado…

Image via pixabay/Coco Parisienne

Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood

William Cullen Bryant

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
No school of long experience, that the world
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,
To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade
Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here
Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men
And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse
Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,
But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt
Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades
Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof
Of green and stirring branches is alive
And musical with birds, that sing and sport
In wantonness of spirit; while below
The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,
Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade
Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam
That waked them into life. Even the green trees
Partake the deep contentment; as they bend
To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky
Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.
Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy
Existence, than the winged plunderer
That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves,
And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees
That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,
With all their earth upon them, twisting high,
Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o’er its bed
Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
In its own being. Softly tread the marge,
Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren
That dips her bill in water. The cool wind,
That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,
Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass
Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.

 

Image via Unsplash/Silvestri Matteo

Thanks for reading, and Happy Weekend to you!

“Truth crushed to earth shall rise again.” – William Cullen Bryant