Weather Poems | Poems About The Weather

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    A Madrigal Poem by William Shakespeare

    Crabbed Age and Youth
    Cannot live together:
    Youth is full of pleasance,
    Age is full of care;
    Youth like summer morn,
    Age like winter weather;
    Youth like summer brave,
    Age like winter bare:
    Youth is full of sports,
    Age’s breath is short,
    Youth is nimble, Age is lame:
    Youth is hot and bold,
    Age is weak and cold,
    Youth is wild, and Age is tame:-
    Age, I do abhor thee;
    Youth, I do adore thee;
    O! my Love, my Love is young!
    Age, I do defy thee-
    O sweet shepherd, hie thee,
    For methinks thou stay’st too long.

     

     

    Tree At My Window Poem by Robert Frost

    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.

    Vague dream head lifted out of the ground,
    And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
    Not all your light tongues talking aloud
    Could be profound.

    But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
    And if you have seen me when I slept,
    You have seen me when I was taken and swept
    And all but lost.

    That day she put our heads together,
    Fate had her imagination about her,
    Your head so much concerned with outer,
    Mine with inner, weather.

     

     

    Laughter And Tears Ix Poem by Kahlil Gibran

    As the Sun withdrew his rays from the garden, and the moon threw cushioned beams upon the flowers, I sat under the trees pondering upon the phenomena of the atmosphere, looking through the branches at the strewn stars which glittered like chips of silver upon a blue carpet; and I could hear from a distance the agitated murmur of the rivulet singing its way briskly into the valley.

    When the birds took shelter among the boughs, and the flowers folded their petals, and tremendous silence descended, I heard a rustle of feet though the grass. I took heed and saw a young couple approaching my arbor. The say under a tree where I could see them without being seen.

    After he looked about in every direction, I heard the young man saying, ‘Sit by me, my beloved, and listen to my heart; smile, for your happiness is a symbol of our future; be merry, for the sparkling days rejoice with us.

    ‘My soul is warning me of the doubt in your heart, for doubt in love is a sin. ‘Soon you will be the owner of this vast land, lighted by this beautiful moon; soon you will be the mistress of my palace, and all the servants and maids will obey your commands.

    ‘Smile, my beloved, like the gold smiles from my father’s coffers.

    ‘My heart refuses to deny you its secret. Twelve months of comfort and travel await us; for a year we will spend my father’s gold at the blue lakes of Switzerland, and viewing the edifices of Italy and Egypt, and resting under the Holy Cedars of Lebanon; you will meet the princesses who will envy you for your jewels and clothes.

    ‘All these things I will do for you; will you be satisfied? ‘

    In a little while I saw them walking and stepping on flowers as the rich step upon the hearts of the poor. As they disappeared from my sight, I commenced to make comparison between love and money, and to analyze their position in the heart.

    Money! The source of insincere love; the spring of false light and fortune; the well of poisoned water; the desperation of old age!

    I was still wandering in the vast desert of contemplation when a forlorn and specter-like couple passed by me and sat on the grass; a young man and a young woman who had left their farming shacks in the nearby fields for this cool and solitary place.

    After a few moments of complete silence, I heard the following words uttered with sighs from weather-bitten lips, ‘Shed not tears, my beloved; love that opens our eyes and enslaves our hearts can give us the blessing of patience. Be consoled in our delay our delay, for we have taken an oath and entered Love’s shrine; for our love will ever grow in adversity; for it is in Love’s name that we are suffering the obstacles of poverty and the sharpness of misery and the emptiness of separation. I shall attack these hardships until I triumph and place in your hands a strength that will help over all things to complete the journey of life.

    ‘Love – which is God – will consider our sighs and tears as incense burned at His altar and He will reward us with fortitude. Good-bye, my beloved; I must leave before the heartening moon vanishes.’

    A pure voice, combined of the consuming flame of love, and the hopeless bitterness of longing and the resolved sweetness of patience, said, ‘Good-bye, my beloved.’

    They separated, and the elegy to their union was smothered by the wails of my crying heart.

    I looked upon slumbering Nature, and with deep reflection discovered the reality of a vast and infinite thing – something no power could demand, influence acquire, nor riches purchase. Nor could it be effaced by the tears of time or deadened by sorrow; a thing which cannot be discovered by the blue lakes of Switzerland or the beautiful edifices of Italy.

    It is something that gathers strength with patience, grows despite obstacles, warms in winter, flourishes in spring, casts a breeze in summer, and bears fruit in autumn – I found Love.

     

     

    A Process In The Weather Of The Heart Poem by Dylan Thomas

    A process in the weather of the heart
    Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
    Storms in the freezing tomb.
    A weather in the quarter of the veins
    Turns night to day; blood in their suns
    Lights up the living worm.

    A process in the eye forwarns
    The bones of blindness; and the womb
    Drives in a death as life leaks out.

    A darkness in the weather of the eye
    Is half its light; the fathomed sea
    Breaks on unangled land.
    The seed that makes a forest of the loin
    Forks half its fruit; and half drops down,
    Slow in a sleeping wind.

    A weather in the flesh and bone
    Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
    Move like two ghosts before the eye.

    A process in the weather of the world
    Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
    Sits in their double shade.
    A process blows the moon into the sun,
    Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
    And the heart gives up its dead.

     

     

    The Breath Of Life Poem by Sylvia Frances Chan

    The Breath Of Life
    To smell The Sun
    to feel The Wind
    to breathe the Fresh Air from within
    to experience The Stormy Weather
    to walk on Top Of The Ocean
    to talk with The Highest Emotion
    to live The Real Life
    to know The Real Love
    to say Good Morning to The Dove
    those are Steps in The Breath of Life
    those are Parts in The Breath of Our Life
    we’d care for it with Gentle Love, no knife

     

     

    Memory Of My Father Poem by Patrick Kavanagh

    Every old man I see
    Reminds me of my father
    When he had fallen in love with death
    One time when sheaves were gathered.

    That man I saw in Gardner Street
    Stumbled on the kerb was one,
    He stared at me half-eyed,
    I might have been his son.

    And I remember the musician
    Faltering over his fiddle
    In Bayswater, London,
    He too set me the riddle.

    Every old man I see
    In October-coloured weather
    Seems to say to me:
    “I was once your father.”

     

     

    I Didn’t Go To Church Today Poem by Ogden Nash

    I didn’t go to church today,
    I trust the Lord to understand.
    The surf was swirling blue and white,
    The children swirling on the sand.
    He knows, He knows how brief my stay,
    How brief this spell of summer weather,
    He knows when I am said and done
    We’ll have plenty of time together.

     

     

    Disillusionment Of Ten O’Clock Poem by Wallace Stevens

    The houses are haunted
    By white night-gowns.
    None are green,
    Or purple with green rings,
    Or green with yellow rings,
    Or yellow with blue rings.
    None of them are strange,
    With socks of lace
    And beaded ceintures.
    People are not going
    To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
    Only, here and there, an old sailor,
    Drunk and asleep in his boots,
    Catches Tigers
    In red weather.

     

     

    An Abandoned Factory, Detroit Poem by Philip Levine

    The gates are chained, the barbed-wire fencing stands,
    An iron authority against the snow,
    And this grey monument to common sense
    Resists the weather. Fears of idle hands,
    Of protest, men in league, and of the slow
    Corrosion of their minds, still charge this fence.

    Beyond, through broken windows one can see
    Where the great presses paused between their strokes
    And thus remain, in air suspended, caught
    In the sure margin of eternity.
    The cast-iron wheels have stopped; one counts the spokes
    Which movement blurred, the struts inertia fought,

    And estimates the loss of human power,
    Experienced and slow, the loss of years,
    The gradual decay of dignity.
    Men lived within these foundries, hour by hour;
    Nothing they forged outlived the rusted gears
    Which might have served to grind their eulogy.

     

     

    The Hard Poem by Simon Armitage

    Here on the Hard, you’re welcome to pull up and stay;
    there’s a flat fee of a quid for parking all day.

    And wandering over the dunes, who wouldn’t die
    for the view: an endless estate of beach, the sea

    kept out of the bay by the dam-wall of the sky.
    Notice the sign, with details of last year’s high tides.

    Walk on, drawn to the shipwreck, a mirage of masts
    a mile or so out, seemingly true and intact

    but scuttled to serve as a target, and fixed on
    by eyeballs staring from bird-hides lining the coast.

    The vast, weather-washed, cornerless state of our mind
    begins on the Hard; the Crown lays claim to the shore

    between low tide and dry land, the country of sand,
    but the moon is law. Take what you came here to find.

    Stranger, the ticket you bought for a pound stays locked
    in the car, like a butterfly trapped under glass;

    stamped with the time, it tells us how taken you are,
    how carried away by now, how deep and how far.