Nature is a boundless source of beauty, wonder, and mystery that never fails to inspire.
Through poetry, we can uncover the awe-inspiring aspects of nature—its strength, tranquility, and the endless fascination it brings.
Dive into these ten invigorating poems about nature and let them awaken your spirit and imagination.
Let’s get started!
My favorite poem about nature
#1 “Nature Rarer Uses Yellow” by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Nature rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets, —
Prodigal of blue,
Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover’s words.
Nature captivates us with its colors. Among them, yellow is rare and precious.
For someone who loves nature and the yellow color, I chose this poem as my favorite because it emphasizes its beauty and significance.
The comparison of yellow to a lover’s words suggests that it’s a color meant for intimate and cherished experiences.
This rarity has drawn me in and makes me pause, prompting reflection on how we perceive beauty in nature.
9 more poems about nature
#2 “The Oasis of Sidi Khaled” by Wilfred Scawen Blunt
How the earth burns! Each pebble under foot
Is as a living thing with power to wound.
The white sand quivers, and the footfall mute
Of the slow camels strikes but gives no sound,
As though they walked on flame, not solid ground!
’T is noon, and the beasts’ shadows even have fled
Back to their feet, and there is fire around
And fire beneath, and the sun overhead.
Pitiful Heaven! what is this we view?
Tall trees, a river, pools, where swallows fly,
Thickets of oleander where doves coo,
Shades, deep as midnight, greenness for tired eyes.
Hark, how the light winds in the palm-tops sigh!
Oh, this is rest! oh, this is paradise!
#3 “The Sea Of Sunset” by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!
Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.
#4 “Beautiful Sky” by Joseph Horatio Chant
O beautiful sky of every hue;
Golden and purple, crimson and blue,
With some sombre lines thrown in between,
And some bright spots of emerald green.
The earth is wed to the sun it seems,
And to grace the robe of his royal bride
No pains are spared, nor a tint untried,
And thus complete it with glory gleams.
He wields his brush as an artist now;
Lo beauty glows on the earth’s fair brow!
And the lovely flowers at once arise
To match the glow of the radiant skies,
The sparkling dewdrops at morn are seen,
Close nestling among the petals rare,
Like crystal studs in a maiden’s hair,
Brighter then gems which adorn a queen.
#5 “Where Sleep the Lilies?” by John Whitfield Green
Where sleep the lilies?
On the lake’s cool breast,
Opening their gentle folds as evening comes,
While silvery moonbeams bathe their upturned face
And silvery ripples play with joy among them.
Here their short lives are passed,
But to be born again
And still repeat the same
Sweet story o’er and o’er.
#6 “Nothing Gold Can Stay” by Robert Lee Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
#7 “There Will Come Soft Rains” by Sara Teasdale
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
#8 “September” by John Whitfield Green
O fair are thy days, September,
The dearest of all the year;
Thou art far enough from November,
Its shadows we need not fear;
Soon after the heat of August
Thou comest our hearts to cheer,
With ripened fruits from the buds of spring,
With golden sheaves from fields of green.
#9 “Nature I” by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Winters know
Easily to shed the snow,
And the untaught Spring is wise
In cowslips and anemonies.
Nature, hating art and pains,
Baulks and baffles plotting brains;
Casualty and Surprise
Are the apples of her eyes;
But she dearly loves the poor,
And, by marvel of her own,
Strikes the loud pretender down.
For Nature listens in the rose
And hearkens in the berry’s bell
To help her friends, to plague her foes,
And like wise God she judges well.
Yet doth much her love excel
To the souls that never fell,
To swains that live in happiness
And do well because they please,
Who walk in ways that are unfamed,
And feats achieve before they’re named.
#10 “My November Guest” by Robert Lee Frost
My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grady
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so wryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
And they are better for her praise.