Poems on the topic: water

Poems on the topic “water” on Poets.by.

SadMatthew Arnold

Hayeswater

A region desolate and wild. Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, a single boat: No mast, no sails are set thereon; It moves, but never moveth on: And welters like a human thing Amid the wild waves weltering. Behind, a buried vale doth sleep, Far down the torrent cleaves its way: In front the dumb rock rises steep, A fretted wall of blue and grey; Of shooting cliff and crumbled stone With many a wild weed overgrown: All else, black water: and afloat, One rood from shore, that single boat.
CheerfulJohn Clare

Little Trotty Wagtail

Little trotty wagtail he went in the rain, And tittering, tottering sideways he neer got straight again, He stooped to get a worm, and looked up to get a fly, And then he flew away ere his feathers they were dry. Little trotty wagtail, he waddled in the mud, And left his little footmarks, trample where he would. He waddled in the water-pudge, and waggle went his tail, And chirrupt up his wings to dry upon the garden rail. Little trotty wagtail, you nimble all about, And in the dimpling water-pudge you waddle in and out; Your home is nigh at hand, and in the warm pig-stye, So, little Master Wagtail, I'll bid you a good-bye.
ContemplativeJohn Clare

The Flood

Waves trough, rebound, and furious boil again, Like plunging monsters rising underneath, Who at the top curl up a shaggy mane, A moment catching at a surer breath, Then plunging headlong down and down, and on Each following whirls the shadow of the last; And other monsters rise when those are gone, Crest their fringed waves, plunge onward and are past. The chill air comes around me oceanly, From bank to bank the waterstrife is spread; Strange birds like snowspots oer the whizzing sea Hang where the wild duck hurried past and fled. On roars the flood, all restless to be free, Like Trouble wandering to Eternity.
CheerfulJohn Clare

Sunday Dip

The morning road is thronged with merry boys Who seek the water for their Sunday joys; They run to seek the shallow pit, and wade And dance about the water in the shade. The boldest ventures first and dashes in, And others go and follow to the chin, And duck about, and try to lose their fears, And laugh to hear the thunder in their ears. They bundle up the rushes for a boat And try across the deepest place to float: Beneath the willow trees they ride and stoop-- The awkward load will scarcely bear them up. Without their aid the others float away, And play about the water half the day.
AnxiousJohn Clare

Fragment

The cataract, whirling down the precipice, Elbows down rocks and, shouldering, thunders through. Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs never cease; Hell and its agonies seem hid below. Thick rolls the mist, that smokes and falls in dew; The trees and greenwood wear the deepest green. Horrible mysteries in the gulph stare through, Roars of a million tongues, and none knows what they mean.
RomanticJohn Clare

The Beautiful Stranger

I cannot know what country owns thee now, With France's forest lilies on thy brow. When England knew thee thou wert passing fair; I never knew a foreign face so rare. The world of waters rolls and rushes bye, Nor lets me wander where thy vallies lie. But surely France must be a pleasant place That greets the stranger with so fair a face; The English maiden blushes down the dance, But few can equal the fair maid of France. I saw thee lovely and I wished thee mine, And the last song I ever wrote is thine. Thy country's honour on thy face attends; Men may be foes but beauty makes us friends.
ContemplativeIsaac Watts

Hymn 52

Baptism. Matt. 28:19; Acts 2:38. 'Twas the commission of our Lord, "Go teach the nations, and baptize:" The nations have received the word Since he ascended to the skies. He sits upon th' eternal hills, With grace and pardon in his hands; And sends his cov'nant with the seals, To bless the distant British lands. "Repent, and be baptized," he saith, For the remission of your sins:" And thus our sense assists our faith, And shows us what his gospel means. Our souls he washes in his blood, As water makes the body clean;
ContemplativeHelen Hunt Jackson

A Calendar of Sonnets: July

Some flowers are withered and some joys have died; The garden reeks with an East Indian scent From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent; The white heat pales the skies from side to side; But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content, Like starry blooms on a new firmament, White lilies float and regally abide. In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed; The lily does not feel their brazen glare. In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share Their dews, the lily feels no thirst, no dread. Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head; She drinks of living waters and keeps fair.
ContemplativeHenry Vaughan

The Water-Fall

1 With what deep murmurs through time's silent stealth 2 Doth thy transparent, cool, and wat'ry wealth 3 Here flowing fall, 4 And chide, and call, 5 As if his liquid, loose retinue stay'd 6 Ling'ring, and were of this steep place afraid; 7 The common pass 8 Where, clear as glass, 9 All must descend 10 Not to an end, 11 But quicken'd by this deep and rocky grave, 12 Rise to a longer course more bright and brave. 13 Dear stream! dear bank, where often I 14 Have sate and pleas'd my pensive eye, 15 Why, since each drop of thy quick store 16 Runs thither whence it flow'd before,
ContemplativeGeorge Herbert

H. Baptism

As he that sees a dark and shady grove, Stays not, but looks beyond it on the sky; So when I view my sins, mine eyes remove More backward still, and to that water fly, Which is above the heav'ns, whose spring and rest Is in my dear Redeemer's pierced side. O blessed streams! either ye do prevent And stop our sins from growing thick and wide, Or else give tears to drown them, as they grow. In you Redemption measures all my time, And spreads the plaster equal to the crime; You taught the book of life my name, that so What ever future sins should me miscall, Your first acquaintance might discredit all.
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

The inundation of the Spring

The inundation of the Spring Enlarges every soul -- It sweeps the tenement away But leaves the Water whole -- In which the soul at first estranged -- Seeks faintly for its shore But acclimated -- pines no more For that Peninsula --
AnxiousEmily Dickinson

The waters chased him as he fled,

The waters chased him as he fled, Not daring look behind -- A billow whispered in his Ear, "Come home with me, my friend -- My parlor is of shriven glass, My pantry has a fish For every palate in the Year" -- To this revolting bliss The object floating at his side Made no distinct reply.

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