Poems on the topic: water

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

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.
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

Water makes many Beds

Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep -- Its awful chamber open stands -- Its Curtains blandly sweep -- Abhorrent is the Rest In undulating Rooms Whose Amplitude no end invades -- Whose Axis never comes.

Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem

Or try: