Best Flower Poems

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
...

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
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COME away, come away, death,
   And in sad cypres let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
   I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
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A dented spider like a snow drop white
On a white Heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of lifeless satin cloth -
Saw ever curious eye so strange a sight? -
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Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it
droop and drop into the dust.

I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of
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A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said 'I've a pretty rose tree,'
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Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble
pricked and the green thread
nibbled away, the petal fell, falling
until the only flower was the falling itself.
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I am a little purple flower
My petals so extremely small
I 've stood in the grass for many an hour
Enjoying a breeze most of all
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Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.
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All all and all the dry worlds lever,
Stage of the ice, the solid ocean,
All from the oil, the pound of lava.
City of spring, the governed flower,
...

The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,
Is that which pleases us, says Kant,
Without a thought of interest or advantage.
...

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
...

Nature is beautiful
nature is fun
love it or hate it
nature is something to love
...

Cover mine eyes, O my Love!
Mine eyes that are weary of bliss
As of light that is poignant and strong
O silence my lips with a kiss,
...

In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,
In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,
Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,
I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
...

I saw a nice little flower…
Enjoying herself in the nice warm fields…
The place felt fine, what a beautiful sight! !
Why didn't it come yesterday? !
...

...

In the ancient days, when the first quiver of speech came to my lips, I ascended the holy mountain and spoke unto God,
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Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.
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I lift my heart as spring lifts up
A yellow daisy to the rain;
My heart will be a lovely cup
Altho' it holds but pain.
...

A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
...

You are my flower
you are my sweet soft petal
hand in hand
...in my hand
...

...

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look for the sunset over the box house hills and cry.

Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery.
...

Why make so much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?
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The perfume of your body dulls my sense.
I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone
Suffices. In this moment rare and tense
I worship at your breast. The flower is blown,
...

. A poet! - He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which art hath lodged within his hand- must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule.
...

The bud
stands for all things,
even those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
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LIKE this alabaster box whose art
Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart,
Carven with delicate dreams and wrought
With many a subtle and exquisite thought.
...

Then a hermit, who visited the city once a year, came forth and said, 'Speak to us of Pleasure.'

And he answered, saying:
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To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
...

Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
...

Our lives, discoloured with our present woes,
May still grow white and shine with happier hours.
So the pure limped stream, when foul with stains
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THE moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it:
The moon is within me, and so is the sun.
The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it.
...

railroad yard in San Jose
I wandered desolate
in front of a tank factory
and sat on a bench
...

A THOUGHT ay like a flower upon mine heart,
And drew around it other thoughts like bees
For multitude and thirst of sweetnesses;
Whereat rejoicing, I desired the art
...

Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,
Is marked by no distinguishable line;
The turf unites, the pathways intertwine;
...

Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth--nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
...

(for whom forced me to leave that orphan) ...
(I hear an orphan's tear while covered with his fear)

ohh, , on that list
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I looked upon her beauty as a flower
I hesitated to pinch her from her stem
Instead I planted myself next to her
Where I too have flourished in a sense…..
...

FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful,
Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,
Here I wander in April
Cold, grey-headed; and still to my
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The awful shadow of some unseen Power
Floats through unseen among us, -- visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to flower, --
...

You claim my thoughts,
Though you have never seen your name in frost.
I think the window of a distant train
Still mirrors you like a poem in its glass.
...

A spider spins a micro fine thread, her gentle web to weave,
It is with awe, that we behold this art, one can't believe
This work, viewed on a frosty morn, portrays pieces of fragile lace,
How can a tiny creature create these patterns, with silent grace.
...

Who ever desired each other as we do? Let us look
for the ancient ashes of hearts that burned,
and let our kisses touch there, one by one,
till the flower, disembodied, rises again.
...

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread;
...

Many a flower have I seen blossom,
Many a bird for me will sing.
Never heard I so sweet a singer,
Never saw I so fair a thing.
...

And only where the forest fires have sped,
Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands,
A sweet wild flower lifts its purple head,
And, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed,
...

Silver dust
lifted from the earth,
higher than my arms reach,
you have mounted.
...

I have kissed the summer dawn. Before the palaces, nothing moved. The water lay dead. Battalions of shadows still kept the forest road.

I walked, walking warm and vital breath, While stones watched, and wings rose soundlessly.
...

They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing, they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmovèd, cold, and to temptation slow,
...

a strange flower
for birds and butterflies
the autumn sky
...

We are a liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.
...

WHAT flower is this that greets the morn,
Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming band
It kindles all the sunset land:
...

Apparently with no surprise,
To any happy flower,
The frost beheads it at its play,
In accidental power.
...

PLAGUE take the dull and dusty town,
Its paved and sordid mazes,
Now Spring has trimmed her pretty gown
With buttercups and daisies!
...

I was like a withered flower in a barren desert,
till I breathed your smile that brought life to my heart.

I was like a homeless child looking for a shelter.
...

On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying,
and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my
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TALL nettles cover up, as they have done
These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough
Long worn out, and the roller made of stone:
Only the elm butt tops the nettles now.
...

Love is a river
In our life it flows
A small seed that grows
A flower without beauty
...

In the morning I cast my net into the sea.

I dragged up from the dark abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty -- some shone like a smile, some
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In a quiet, pleasant meadow,
Beneath a summer sky,
Where green old trees their branches waved,
And winds went singing by;
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The hour has come at last when, trembling to and fro,
Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
The scent and sounds all swirl in evening’s gentle fume;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!
...

A dented spider like a snow drop white
On a white Heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of lifeless satin cloth -
Saw ever curious eye so strange a sight? -
...

It sheds a shy solemnity,
This lamp in our poor room.
O grey and gold amenity, --
Silence and gentle gloom!
...

180

As if some little Arctic flower
Upon the polar hem—
...

not of silver nor of coral,
but of weatherbeaten laurel.

Here, he introduced a sea
...

Your questioning eyes are sad. They
seek to know my meaning as the moon
would fathom the sea.
I have bared my life before your
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The girl with dark and beautiful hair,
Her eyes are lovely and her skin fair.
She is like a full bloomed flower
With beauty, I can’t bear
...

Oh, butterfly, butterfly,
why do you flutter by?
Why can not you fly straight,
and have any weapons to fight?
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Sound is my slumber but rude my awakening;
low my chrysalid origin, but high my carnelian hope,
hard the time I endure in but harder the hurt
of cleansing of my negative selves, thoughsoothing
...

Every once in a while
The beholder casts
A special wish
And a flower is created
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She is near to my heart as the meadow-flower to the earth; she is
sweet to me as sleep is to tired limbs. My love for her is my life
flowing in its fullness, like a river in autumn flood, running with
serene abandonment. My songs are one with my love, like the murmur
...

Come slowly,
Eden
Lips unused to thee.
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
...

Yellow flower, grieving flower, pale flower,
You were burnt by the sun and the hot rain.
Ripe flower, matured flower, immaculate flower,
You've nevertheless kept your phenomenal beauty sane.
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The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,
Is that which pleases us, says Kant,
Without a thought of interest or advantage.
...

Simple and noble words of laughing
And that laugh in working,
Simple and noble words of loving
And that love in working,
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Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing
that thy living touch is upon all my limbs.

I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing
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The birds sing with lyrical affluence,
The butterflies dance in thrilling indulgence,
The breeze whistles in frisky cheerfulness,
The spring rejoices in her own opulence!
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Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,
Let it be forgotten forever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
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The flower of the Alps told the seashell: "You're shining"
The seashell told the sea: "You echo"
The sea told the boat: "You're shuddering"
The boat told the fire: "You're glowing brightly"
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How many million Aprils came
   Before I ever knew
How white a cherry bough could be,
   A bed of squills, how blue.
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Is this sweet babe
The bright crescent moon, or the charming flower of the lotus,
The honey in a flower, or the lustre of the full moon,
A pure coral gem, or the pleasant chatter of parrots,
...

Upon this Primrose hill,
Where, if Heav'n would distil
A shower of rain, each several drop might go
To his own primrose, and grow manna so;
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The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strung
And cut a flower beside a ground bird's nest
Before it stained a single human breast.
The stricken flower bent double and so hung.
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The image of the moon at night
All trembling in the ocean lies,
But she, with calm and steadfast light,
Moves proudly through the radiant skies,
...

1

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!
...

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh
The sun has left the lea,
The orange-flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
...

On being asked, Whence is the flower?

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
...

Come to my garden walk, my love. Pass by the fervid flowers that
press themselves on your sight. Pass them by, stopping at some
chance joy, which like a sudden wonder of sunset illumines, yet
elude.
...

"It was wrong to do this," said the angel.
"You should live like a flower,
Holding malice like a puppy,
Waging war like a lambkin."
...

On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying,
and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my
...

On the soil in the garden rose is a flower
As, in the royal tower is a dynastic queen
In highly royal sphere
Where princes and princesses are living
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I should have thought
in a dream you would have brought
some lovely, perilous thing,
orchids piled in a great sheath,
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That is work of waste and ruin--
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
We must spare them--here are many:
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As if chiseled, a fruit-laden branch
Hangs in my garden, asleep - so low...
The trees sleep - and dream? - in moonlight;
And the mystery of their life is near, near...
...

Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low
let me take you to the garden
where the passion flower grows
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A flower grew out of the ground
A tiny flower from the dirt
A tiny living soul from underground
A baby crawling from the dirt
...

is a
mystery or magic
going to happen here
to unveil
...

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
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