Tag Archives: nature poetry

“The Blue-Green Stream” by Wang Wei (Lowell version) [w/ Audio]

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Every time I have started for the Yellow Flower River,
 I have gone down the Blue-Green Stream,
 Following the hills, making ten thousand turnings.
 We go along rapidly, but advance scarcely one hundred li.
 We are in the midst of a noise of water,
 Of the confused and mingled sounds of water broken by stones,
 And in the deep darkness of pine-trees.
 Rocked, rocked,
 Moving on and on,
 We float past water-chestnuts
 Into a still clearness reflecting reeds and rushes.
 My heart is clean and white as silk; 
   it has already achieved Peace;
 It is smooth as the placid river.
 I long to stay here, curled up on the rocks,
 Dropping my fish-line forever.

NOTE: This version was translated by Florence Ayscough and adapted by Amy Lowell in the book: Fir-Flower Tablets (1921) New York: Houghton Mifflin, p. 123

“Autumn” by Amy Lowell [w/ Audio]

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All day I have watched the purple vine leaves
   Fall into the water.
 And now in the moonlight they still fall,
 But each leaf is fringed with silver.

“Snow-flakes” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]

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Out of the bosom of the Air,
   Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
 Over the woodlands brown and bare,
   Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
      Silent, and soft, and slow
      Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
   Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
 Even as the troubled heart doth make
   In the white countenance confession,
      The troubled sky reveals
      The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
   Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
 This is the secret of despair,
   Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
      Now whispered and revealed
      To wood and field.

“Inversnaid” by Gerard Manley Hopkins [w/ Audio]

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This darksome burn, horseback brown,
 His rollback highroad roaring down,
 In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
 Flutes and low to the lake falls home.

A windpuff-bonnet of fawn-froth
 Turns and twindles over the broth
 Of a pool so pitchblack, fell frowning,
 It rounds and rounds Despair and drowning.

Degged with dew, dappled with dew
 Are the groins of the braes that the brook threads through.
 Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
 And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.

What would the world be, once bereft
 Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
 O let them be left, wildness and wet;
 Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

“Good Things” by Qin Guan [w/ Audio]

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Spring rains spur roadside flower growth,
   and wildflowers creep to the mountain's base.
 Hiking deep up the valley along the stream,
   I see and hear hundreds of orioles.
Looking skyward, a cloud becomes a dragon or snake,
   But then breaks up, giving way to blue sky.
 Lying in the forest under hanging vines,
    I can't tell north from south.

Five Seasonal Poems of Miura Chora [w/ Audio]

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NEW YEAR

New Year's Day:
 the ancient voice of a
  nightingale.

SPRING

idyllic nights
 and quiet days:
  spring rains.

SUMMER

cold water, and
 a couple of rice cakes:
  it's summertime.

AUTUMN

morning glories
 are tousled by 
  Autumn winds.

WINTER

lingering wind
 and snow fall
  upon me.

“Fortuneteller’s Song” by Liu Yong [w/ Audio]

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The maples have grown old;
 Orchards have begun to wither.
 The reds and greens have faded.
 Climbing the heights, I
   Feel the chill of late Autumn.
 A ceaseless pounding sound
   Drowns out the setting sun.
 Remembered sorrows flock 
   To mind, making new sorrows.
 We are separated 
    By a thousand miles;
 From our two distant places
   We can't even meet in dreams.
 The rain stops, and the sky clears;
   One can see the twelve green peaks.
 Speechless, who could understand
   My angst, as I stand cliffside.
 I can write of my grief, but
   Will the clouds bring a reply?

“Butterflies in Love with Flowers” by Zhu Shuzhen [w/ Audio]

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Thousands of willow twigs beyond my bower sway;
   They try to retain spring, but she won't stay
      For long and goes away.
 In vernal breeze the willow down still wafts with grace;
   It tries to follow spring to find her dwelling place.
 Hills and rills greened all over, I hear cuckoos sing;
   Feeling no grief, why should they give me a sharp sting?
 With wine cup in hand, I ask spring who won't reply.
   When evening grizzles,
      A cold rain drizzles.

Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, pp. 146-147.

“Song of More Sugar” by Liu Guo [w/ Audio]

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Reeds cover the tiny island.
   Shallow streams cut through the cold sand.

I see the Southern Tower for 
   The first time in two decades.
 
How many days since I moored 
   Under this willow tree?
   Mid-Autumn Festival is almost here.

On the rocks of Yellow Crane,
 Do my friends still reside?

This old place has many new sorrows.

If I bought wine and we cast off together,
 Could we be young again?

“The Fly” by William Blake [w/ Audio]

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Source: USGS Bee Inventory and Monitoring Lab
Little fly,
 Thy summer's play
 My thoughtless hand
 Has brushed away.

Am not I
 A fly like thee?
 Or art not thou
 A man like me?

For I dance
 And drink and sing,
 Till some blind hand 
 Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
 And strength and breath,
 And the want
 Of thought is death,

Then am I 
 A happy fly,
 If I live,
 Or if I die.