In poetry, animals often symbolize more than just their physical forms; they embody emotions, wisdom, and the essence of nature itself.
Here are 10 enchanting poems about animals that not only celebrate these creatures but also illuminate their unique traits and stories.
Plunge into this literary journey together and discover the enchanting connections that poetry can forge between us and the animal kingdom.
Let’s get started!
My favorite poem about animals
#1 From “The Lioness And The Bear” by Jean de La Fontaine
The lioness had lost her young;
A hunter stole it from the vale;
The forests and the mountains rung
Responsive to her hideous wail.
Nor night, nor charms of sweet repose,
Could still the loud lament that rose
From that grim forest queen.
No animal, as you might think,
With such a noise could sleep a wink.
A bear presumed to intervene.
‘One word, sweet friend,’ quoth she,
‘And that is all, from me.
The young that through your teeth have pass’d,
In file unbroken by a fast,
Had they nor dam nor sire?’
‘They had them both.’ ‘Then I desire,
Since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot,
While mothers died of grief beneath your fiat,
To know why you yourself cannot be quiet?’
‘I quiet! – I! – a wretch bereaved!
My only son! – such anguish be relieved!
No, never! All for me below
Is but a life of tears and woe!’ –
‘But say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?’ –
‘Alas! ’tis Destiny that is my foe.’
This poem really hits home for me because it shows a mother lioness grieving for her lost cub.
Her heart-wrenching cry reminds us that all mothers, human or animal, feel deep sorrow when they lose a child.
This is also a reminder that while they are animals, they also feel emotions and strive to live and survive the harsh world so we should not treat them any less that humans.
9 more poems about animals
#2 “The Horse And The Ass” by Walter Crane
Overladen the Ass was. The Horse
Wouldn’t help; but had time for remorse
When the Ass lay dead there;
For he then had to bear
Both the load of the Ass & his corse.
#3 “The Bear & The Bees” by Walter Crane
“Their honey I’ll have when I please;
Who cares for such small things as Bees?”
Said the Bear; but the stings
Of these very small things
Left him not very much at his ease.
#4 “Deer” by John Drinkwater
Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer.
They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody near
Comes upon their pastures. There a life they live,
Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive
Treading as in jungles free leopards do,
Printless as evelight, instant as dew.
The great kine are patient, and home-coming sheep
Know our bidding. The fallow deer keep
Delicate and far their counsels wild,
Never to be folded reconciled
To the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are;
Lightfoot, and swift, and unfamiliar,
These you may not hinder, unconfined
Beautiful flocks of the mind.
#5 “The Deer & The Lion” by Walter Crane
From the hounds the swift Deer sped away,
To his cave, where in past times he lay
Well concealed; unaware
Of a Lion couched there,
For a spring that soon made him his prey.
#6 “Sheep in Winter” by John Clare
The sheep get up and make their many tracks
And bear a load of snow upon their backs,
And gnaw the frozen turnip to the ground
With sharp quick bite, and then go noising round
The boy that pecks the turnips all the day
And knocks his hands to keep the cold away
And laps his legs in straw to keep them warm
And hides behind the hedges from the storm.
The sheep, as tame as dogs, go where he goes
And try to shake their fleeces from the snows,
Then leave their frozen meal and wander round
The stubble stack that stands beside the ground,
And lie all night and face the drizzling storm
And shun the hovel where they might be warm.
#7 “The Tyger” by William Blake
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
#8 “The Geese & The Cranes” by Walter Crane
The Geese joined the Cranes in some wheat;
All was well, till, disturbed at their treat,
Light-winged, the Cranes fled,
But the slow Geese, well fed,
Couldn’t rise, and were caught in retreat.
#9 “Bird Or Beast?” by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Did any bird come flying
After Adam and Eve,
When the door was shut against them
And they sat down to grieve?
I think not Eve’s peacock
Splendid to see,
And I think not Adam’s eagle;
But a dove may be.
Did any beast come pushing
Through the thorny hedge
Into the thorny thistly world,
Out from Eden’s edge?
I think not a lion,
Though his strength is such;
But an innocent loving lamb
May have done as much.
If the dove preached from her bough
and the lamb from his sod,
The lamb and dove
Were preachers sent from God.
#10 “A Fable” by William Cowper
A raven, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press’d,
And, on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted
(A fault philosophers might blame,
If quite exempted from the same),
Enjoy’d at ease the genial day;
‘Twas April, as the bumpkins say,
The legislature call’d it May.
But suddenly a wind, as high
As ever swept a winter sky,
Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And fill’d her with a thousand fears,
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes below.
But just at eve the blowing weather
And all her fears were hush’d together:
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph.
‘Tis over, and the brood is safe;
(For ravens, though, as birds of omen,
They teach both conjurors and old women
To tell us what is to befall,
Can’t prophesy themselves at all.)
The morning came, when neighbour Hodge,
Who long had mark’d her airy lodge,
And destined all the treasure there
A gift to his expecting fair,
Climb’d like a squirrel to his dray,
And bore the worthless prize away.