The Sound of Trees by Robert Frost

The Sound of Trees
By Robert Frost

I wonder about the trees.

Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.

Dust of Snow by Robert Frost

Dust of Snow
By Robert Frost

The way a crow

Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

 

Bright Star by John Keats

Bright Star
By John Keats

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—

         Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
         Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
         Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
         Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
         Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
         Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

Rain by Annella Grayce

Rain
By Annella Grayce

Soaking

Steady
Downpour
Sheets
Horizontal
Buckets
Torrential
Flooding
 
Rain falls in many ways
          but up

Light Shining out of Darkness by William Cowper

Light Shining out of Darkness
By William Cowper

1

God moves in a mysterious way,
      His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
      And rides upon the storm.

2

Deep in unfathomable mines
      Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
      And works his sov'reign will.

3

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
      The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
      In blessings on your head.

4

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
      But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
      He hides a smiling face.

5

His purposes will ripen fast,
      Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
      But sweet will be the flow'r.

6

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
      And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
      And he will make it plain. 1

God moves in a mysterious way,       His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea,       And rides upon the storm.  2 Deep in unfathomable mines       Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs,       And works his sov'reign will.  3 Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,       The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break       In blessings on your head.  4 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,       But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence       He hides a smiling face.  5 His purposes will ripen fast,       Unfolding ev'ry hour; The bud may have a bitter taste,       But sweet will be the flow'r.  6 Blind unbelief is sure to err,       And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter,       And he will make it plain.

The Human Seasons by John Keats

The Human Seasons
By John Keats

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;

     There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
     Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
     Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
     Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
     He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
     Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

October by Robert Frost

October
By Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.