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SPRING POEMS: 60 Best Spring Poems and Spring Poems for Kids

Updated on February 02, 2014
Spring Poems
Spring Poems

Read 60 spring poems, with the best new and famous poems about spring, spring poems for kids, spring haikus, spring poem videos, and spring season illustrations.

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Spring poems, a celebration of the season, are written by poets in every generation. Spring is when the earth itself writes poetry and the very air becomes the poet's muse. It is no coincidence that America's National Poetry Month is in April.

This poetry collection contains the best new poems as well as the most-loved poems from previous generations. There is also a section of spring poems for kids. You can use the Table of Contents to find the section you want, or just scroll down the page to read them all.

Table of Contents

– jump to section

Spring Poems

Spring Poems by Robert Frost

Famous Spring Poems

Spring Haikus

Poems about the Meaning of Spring

Spring Poems for Kids

Spring Poems

The poems in this section are from modern poets. All of these poets have won significant writing awards and many were awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.

Spring in Keukenhof Garden of Europe, the Netherlands
Spring in Keukenhof Garden of Europe, the Netherlands

Carl Sandburg

Carl Sandburg (1878 – 1967) is a favorite American poet who won two Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He is also known for his monumental studies of President Abraham Lincoln, winning an additional Pulitzer for his biography of the President.


Three Spring Notations on Bipeds

an excerpt from the poem by Carl Sandburg

The down drop of the blackbird,
The wing catch of arrested flight,
The stop midway and then off: off for triangles, circles, loops of new hieroglyphs—
This is April’s way: a woman:
“O yes, I’m here again and your heart
knows I was coming.”


Philip Larkin
Philip Larkin

Philip Larkin

Philip Larkin (1922 – 1985) was a British poet who was awarded the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry.

Larkin's three poems about spring below are excerpted from The Complete Poems, his life's work with Larkin's added commentary published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Coming

by Philip Larkin

On longer evenings,
Light, chill and yellow,
Bathes the serene
Foreheads of houses.
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
It will be spring soon,
It will be spring soon —
And I, whose childhood
Is a forgotten boredom,
Feel like a child
Who comes on a scene
Of adult reconciling,
And can understand nothing
But the unusual laughter,
And starts to be happy.


Springtime
Springtime | Source

Spring (by Larkin)

by Philip Larkin

Green-shadowed people sit, or walk in rings,
Their children finger the awakened grass,
Calmly a cloud stands, calmly a bird sings,
And, flashing like a dangled looking-glass,
Sun lights the balls that bounce, the dogs that bark,
The branch-arrested mist of leaf, and me,
Threading my pursed-up way across the park,
An indigestible sterility.
Spring, of all seasons most gratuitous,
Is fold of untaught flower, is race of water,
Is earth’s most multiple, excited daughter;
And those she has least use for see her best,
Their visions mountain-clear, their needs immodest.


Spring
Spring | Source

The Trees

by Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.


Billy Collins
Billy Collins

Billy Collins

Billy Collins is a former Poet Laureate of the United States. He is a Professor of English at Lehman College in New York.

The poem below is an excerpt from his new book, Aimless Love: New and Selected Poems.

Today

by Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

"the cool brick paths"
"the cool brick paths"

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden sprouting tulips

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.


Mary Oliver
Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver is an American poet who won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1984. Her poem, Spring Azures, is an excerpt from her book New and Selected Poems, Volume One.

Spring Azures

by Mary Oliver

In spring the blue azures bow down
at the edges of shallow puddles
to drink the black rainwater.
Then they rise and float away into the fields.

Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,
and all the tricks my body knows—
the opposable thumbs, the kneecaps,
and the mind clicking and clicking—

don't seem enough to carry me through this world
and I think: how I would like

Blue Bird
Blue Bird | Source

to have wings—
blue ones—
ribbons of flame.

How I would like to open them, and rise
from the black rain water.

And then I think of Blake1, in the dirt and sweat of London—a boy
staring through the window, when God came
fluttering up.

Of course, he screamed,
seeing the bobbin of God's blue body
leaning on the sill,
and the thousand-faceted eyes.

Well, who knows.
Who knows what hung, fluttering, at the window
between him and the darkness.

Anyway, Blake the hosier’s son stood up
and turned away from the sooty sill and the dark city—
turned away forever
from the factories, the personal strivings,

to a life of the imagination.

1This is a reference to poet William Blake who experienced visions beginning in early childhood.


Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays
Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays

'Such Singing in the Wild Branches' and 'Spring' (below) are excerpts from this collection.

 
Blue Bird
Blue Bird | Source

Such Singing in the Wild Branches

by Mary Oliver

It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves—
then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still

and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness—
and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree—
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing—
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky— all, all of them

were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

for more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then— open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.


Black Bear in Spring Flowers
Black Bear in Spring Flowers
A Black Bear:  "...staring down the mountain..."
A Black Bear: "...staring down the mountain..."

Spring (by Oliver)

by Mary Oliver

Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
her tongue

like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:

how to love this world.
I think of her
rising
like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of the trees.
Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its glass cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her—
her white teeth,
her wordlessness,
her perfect love.


Morning in a Pine Forest
Morning in a Pine Forest | Source

James Arlington Wright

James Arlington Wright (1927 – 1980) won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1972 and was a recipient of a Rockefeller grant.

The poem below is an excerpt from his complete works, highlighted to the right.


March

by James Wright

A bear under the snow,
Turns over to yawn.
It's been a long, hard rest.

Once, as she lay asleep, her cubs fell
Out of her hair,
And she did not know them.

It's hard to breathe
In a tight grave:

So she roars,
And the roof breaks.
Dark rivers and leaves
Pour down.

When the wind opens its doors
In its own good time,
The cubs follow that relaxed and beautiful woman
Outside to the unfamiliar cities
Of moss.


John Koethe
John Koethe

John Koethe

John Koethe is a professor of philosophy at the University of Wisconsin. He is a recipient of fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation.

His poem below was the title poem of his collection published in 1984 by the University of Wisconsin Press. The poem is included in his new volume, North Point North: New and Selected Poems.


North Point North: New and Selected Poems
North Point North: New and Selected Poems

'The Late Wisconsin Spring' is an excerpt from this collection.

 

The Late Wisconsin Spring

by John Koethe

Snow melts into the earth and a gentle breeze
Loosens the damp gum wrappers, the stale leaves
Left over from autumn, and the dead brown grass.
The sky shakes itself out. And the invisible birds
Winter put away somewhere return, the air relaxes,
People start to circulate again in twos and threes.
The dominant feelings are the blue sky, and the year.
—Memories of other seasons and the billowing wind;
The light gradually altering from difficult to clear
As a page melts and a photograph develops in the backyard.
When some men came to tear down the garage across the way
The light was still clear, but the salt intoxication
Was already dissipating into the atmosphere of constant day
April brings, between the isolation and the flowers.
Now the clouds are lighter, the branches are frosted green,
And suddenly the season that had seemed so tentative before
Becomes immediate, so clear the heart breaks and the vibrant
Air is laced with crystal wires leading back from hell.
Only the distraction, and the exaggerated sense of care
Here at the heart of spring—all year long these feelings
Alternately wither and bloom, while a dense abstraction
Hides them. But now the mental dance of solitude resumes,
And life seems smaller, placed against the background
Of this story with the empty, moral quality of an expansive
Gesture made up out of trees and clouds and air.

The loneliness comes and goes, but the blue holds,
Permeating the early leaves that flutter in the sunlight
As the air dances up and down the street. Some kids yell.
A white dog rolls over on the grass and barks once. And
Although the incidents vary and the principal figures change,
Once established, the essential tone and character of a season
Stays inwardly the same day after day, like a person’s.
The clouds are frantic. Shadows sweep across the lawn
And up the side of the house. A dappled sky, a mild blue
Watercolor light that floats the tense particulars away
As the distraction starts. Spring here is at first so wary,
And then so spare that even the birds act like strangers,
Trying out the strange air with a hesitant chirp or two,
And then subsiding. But the season intensifies by degrees,
Imperceptibly, while the colors deepen out of memory,
The flowers bloom and the thick leaves gleam in the sunlight
Of another city, in a past which has almost faded into heaven.
And even though memory always gives back so much more of
What was there than the mind initially thought it could hold,
Where will the separation and the ache between the isolated
Moments go when summer comes and turns this all into a garden?
Spring here is too subdued: the air is clear with anticipation,
But its real strength lies in the quiet tension of isolation
And living patiently, without atonement or regret,
In the eternity of the plain moments, the nest of care
—Until suddenly, all alone, the mind is lifted upward into
Light and air and the nothingness of the sky,
Held there in that vacant, circumstantial blue until,
In the vehemence of a landscape where all the colors disappear,
The quiet absolution of the spirit quickens into fact,
And then, into death. But the wind is cool.
The buds are starting to open on the trees.
Somewhere up in the sky an airplane drones.


E. E. Cummings

E. E. Cummings (1894 – 1962) was an American poet and author. During his lifetime he was a favorite poet, second only to Robert Frost in popularity.

He wrote thousands of poems which are now collected in a single book, featured at the right. The collection contains all of Cummings' published poetry as well as 164 unpublished poems. The spring poem below is an excerpt from this volume.


Almond Tree in Bloom
Almond Tree in Bloom | Source

Spring Is Like a Perhaps Hand

by E. E. Cummings

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere) arranging
a window, into which people look (while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here) and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things, while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there) and

without breaking anything.


Lawrence Raab
Lawrence Raab
Other Children (Carnegie Mellon Poetry)
Other Children (Carnegie Mellon Poetry)

'Cold Spring' is an excerpt from this book of Lawrence Raab's Poetry, published by Carnegie Mellon University Press.

 

Lawrence Raab

Lawrence Raab is an American playwright and poet. He is a professor at Williams College.

He received the Bess Hokin Prize from Poetry magazine and the Academy of American Poets’ Prize.


Cold Spring

by Lawrence Raab

The last few gray sheets of snow are gone,
winter’s scraps and leavings lowered
to a common level. A sudden jolt
of weather pushed us outside, and now
this larger world once again belongs to us.
I stand at the edge of it, beside the house,
listening to the stream we haven’t heard
since fall, and I imagine one day thinking
back to this hour and blaming myself
for my worries, my foolishness, today’s choices
having become the accomplished
facts of change, accepted
or forgotten. The woods are a mangle
of lines, yet delicate, yet precise,
when I take the time to look closely.
If I’m not happy it must be my own fault.
At the edge of the lawn my wife
bends down to uncover a flower, then another.
The first splurge of crocuses.
And for a moment the sweep and shudder
of the wind seems indistinguishable
from the steady furl of water
just beyond her.

Lambing Time
Lambing Time | Source
Ewe with Spring Lamb
Ewe with Spring Lamb
Poetry
Poetry

John Jackson's poem is an excerpt from this magazine published by the American Poetry Foundation, the 100-year-old journal of English language poetry. One year subscription sales price:

 

Lambing, Upstate New York

by John Jackson

He wore his bloody birth-sac like old clothes
Out-at-elbows from six month's journeying
Through love's unhaunted darkness. In blinking snows
His first uncertain earth-walk stamped a ring.

Around the ewe who turned into the weather
To make sure his first lesson would be hunger.
Where mountains bent their crests down to the river
Like so many enormous horses, we stopped in wonder.

We were tramping through the paddock, ruining
Winter's last haphazard, perfect drifts.
The truth of how we get here is more amazing,
More improbably than any school-yard myth

So we jumped the ditch, leaving them alone.
Imagine, on spring's cusp, discovering that country,
Fallen from the heaven between your mother's bones,
Still steaming, like a rocket on re-entry.


Spring Planting Landscape
Spring Planting Landscape | Source

Writer Fox

The following is an excerpt from the author's poem, Clearly Chaos, a poem about the seasons.


Spring (by Writer Fox™)

by Writer Fox™

Immigrant season, empty hands
looking for work,
finding promise in pockets of dust,
bringing back the birds,
competitive as pretty sisters
bickering in birdsong, speaking of seeds.
Spring, wetting itself,
wipes muddy feet at the door
then passes through without notice.

Spring Poems by Robert Frost

Robert Frost

Robert Frost (1874 – 1963) was a master of the spring poem. He is, without a doubt, American's most-loved poet. During his lifetime, he received four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry and the Congressional Gold Medal.

Frost is known for his naturalist poems, many of which were written on his farm in New England.

All of the Frost poems about spring on this page are excerpts from the collection at the right. This belongs in your personal library. It will touch your soul.

Spring Trees
Spring Trees | Source
The Woodland Pool
The Woodland Pool | Source

Spring Pools

by Robert Frost

These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods---
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.


The Pear Orchard
The Pear Orchard | Source

A Prayer in Spring

by Robert Frost

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.


Crocus Rising Through the Snow
Crocus Rising Through the Snow

To the Thawing Wind

by Robert Frost

Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snow-bank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate'er you do to-night,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.


Nothing Gold Can Stay

by Robert 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.


Blue Butterfly on Yellow Lily
Blue Butterfly on Yellow Lily

Blue-Butterfly Day

by Robert Frost

It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.

But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.


(The photo is from this collection of butterfly pictures.)

Famous Spring Poems

The famous poems in this section are from familiar poets and are poems most people will remember from their school years.

There is poetry from Millay, Nash, Lawrence, Shakespeare, Whitman, Wordsworth, Shelley, Dickinson, Herrick, Brine, Blake, Stevenson, and Lowell. You are sure to find your favorite spring poem here.

May Afternoon
May Afternoon | Source
Edna St. Vincent Millay in the Spring of 1914
Edna St. Vincent Millay in the Spring of 1914

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 – 1950) was an American playwright and the recipient of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.

The photograph of Millay at the right was used as the cover of her collected works of poetry, published in 2010. Her poem, Spring, is an excerpt from this collection.

April in Algonquin Park
April in Algonquin Park | Source

Spring (by Millay)

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.


It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.


The Best of Ogden Nash Poetry
The Best of Ogden Nash Poetry

Ogden Nash

Ogden Nash (1902 – 1971) published his first poem in 1930 in The New Yorker, where he was employed. The poem was 'Spring Comes to Murray Hill' and was the first of many funny poems about spring which he would write in his lifetime.

The poems below are collected in a new book, edited by his daughters. You can view inside the book from the link below:

Spring Comes to Murray Hill

by Ogden Nash

I sit in an office at 244 Madison Avenue
And say to myself You have a responsible job havenue?
Why then do you fritter away your time on this doggerel?
If you have a sore throat you can cure it by using a good goggeral,
If you have a sore foot you can get it fixed by a chiropodist,
And you can get your original sin removed by St. John the Bopodist,
Why then should this flocculent lassitude be incurable?
Kansas City, Kansas, proves that even Kansas City needn't always be Missourible.
Up up my soul! This inaction is abominable.
Perhaps it is the result of disturbances abdominable.
The pilgrims settled Massachusetts in 1620 when they landed on a stone hummock.
Maybe if they were here now they would settle my stomach.
Oh, if I only had the wings of a bird
I could soar in a jiffy to Second or Third.


Narcissus
Narcissus | Source

Always Marry an April Girl

by Ogden Nash

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true —
I love April, I love you.


Spring Song (by Nash)

by Ogden Nash

Listen, buds, it’s March twenty-first;
Don’t you know enough to burst?
Come on, birds, unlock your throats!
Come on, gardeners, shed your coats!
Come on zephyrs, come on flowers,
Come on grass, and violet showers!
And come on, lambs, in frisking flocks!
Salute the vernal equinox!
Twang the cheerful lute and zither!
Spring is absolutely hither!
Yester eve was dark despair,
With winter, winter, everywhere;
Today, upon the other hand,
“Tis spring throughout this happy land.
Oh, such is Nature’s chiaroscuro,
According to the Weather Bureau.

Then giddy-ap, Napoleon! Giddy-ap, Gideon!
The sun has crossed the right meridian!
What though the blasts of Winter sting?
Officially, at least, it’s Spring,
And be it far from our desire
To make the Weather Man a liar!

So, blossom, ye parks, with cozy benches,
Occupied by blushing wenches!
Pipe, ye frogs, while swains are sighing,
And furnaces unwept are dying!
Crow, ye cocks, a little bit louder!
Mount, ye sales of paint and powder!
Croon, ye crooner, yet more croonishly!
Shine, ye moon, a lot more moonishly!
And oh ye brooklets, burst your channels!
And oh ye camphor, greet ye flannels!
And bloom, ye clothesline, bloom with wash,
Where erstwhile trudged the grim galosh!
Ye transit lines, abet our follies
By turning loose your open trolleys!
And ye, ye waking hibernators,
Drain anti-freeze from your radiators!
While ye, ye otherwise useless dove,
Remember, please, to rhyme with love.

Then giddy-ap, Napoleon! Giddy-ap, Gideon!
The sun has crossed the right meridian!
What though the blasts of Winter sting?
Officially, at least, it’s Spring!


D. H. Lawrence
D. H. Lawrence

D. H. Lawrence

D. H. Lawrence (1885–1930) was an English novelist and poet. After controversies surrounding his novels (such as Lady Chatterley's Lover) and his political beliefs, he left England and lived in the United States, Mexico and France.


The Enkindled Spring

by D. H. Lawrence (1885–1930)

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.


William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) is considered the best English-language poet and he is certainly the most famous. Even his plays were written as poetry with poetic meter and measured poetic feet (iambic pentameter).

His plays and sonnets contain some of the world's most quoted lines.


Two Lovers Lying in a Cornfield
Two Lovers Lying in a Cornfield | Source

It Was a Lover and His Lass

from As You Like It, Act 5 Scene 3, by William Shakespeare


It was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o’er the green cornfield did pass,
In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
Between the acres of the rye,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
Those pretty country folks would lie,
In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a life was but a flower
In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
And therefore take the present time,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crownèd with the prime
In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.


Sonnet 98

by William Shakespeare

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight
Drawn after you, – you pattern of all those.
Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.


Walt Whitman
Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) was an American poet who popularized the free-verse movement in American poetry. He was primarily a journalist and typesetter. Unable to write in established poetic forms, he more or less invented free verse as a method of collecting random thoughts that had no outlet in journalism. He published his first volume of free verse, Leaves of Grass, anonymously and paid for the first print-run from his own pocket.

Barely 100 years old, the free-verse movement owes its flourishing to this man – much to the gratitude of university professors who must produce under the 'publish-or-perish' theory of tenure and do not possess the talent to write classical poetry, having neither the soul for rhyme nor the heartbeat for meter.


Fishing in the Spring
Fishing in the Spring | Source

By Broad Potomac's Shore

By Walt Whitman

By broad Potomac's shore, again old tongue,
(Still uttering, still ejaculating, canst never cease this babble?)
Again old heart so gay, again to you, your sense, the full flush
spring returning,
Again the freshness and the odors, again Virginia's summer sky,
pellucid blue and silver,
Again the forenoon purple of the hills,
Again the deathless grass, so noiseless soft and green,
Again the blood-red roses blooming.

Perfume this book of mine O blood-red roses!
Lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac!
Give me of you O spring, before I close, to put between its pages!
O forenoon purple of the hills, before I close, of you!
O deathless grass, of you!


William Wordsworth
William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850) was a British poet noted for his lyrical poetry. His poem The Daffodils is one of his most widely known.

He wrote the poem in 1804 after discovering a field of wild daffodils while on a walk with his sister near Ullswater Lake. It was first published in 1807.

Daffodils in South East Cornwall
Daffodils in South East Cornwall | Source

The Daffodils

by William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)

I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:—
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed, and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


Percy Bysshe Shelley
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822) was one of England's most influential lyric poets. The last line of the poem below is one of the most famous in English literature.


Ode to the West Wind V

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened Earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?


Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886) is a beloved American poet who lived most of her life as a recluse on the family estate in Amherst, Massachusetts. Her family was unaware of the vast number of poems she was writing and hundreds of them were discovered after her death by her sister.

Almost all of her poetry was published posthumously.


A Little Madness in the Spring

by Emily Dickinson

Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown --
Who ponders this tremendous scene --
This whole Experiment of Green --
As if it were his own!


Lilac in the Park
Lilac in the Park | Source

A Light Exists in Spring

by Emily Dickinson

A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.


Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May
Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May | Source

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick (1591–1674) was a prolific poet and thousands of his poems are preserved. He was a professional cleric.


Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May

(To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time)

By Robert Herrick
.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today
To-morrow will be dying.
.
The glorious lamp of Heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run.
And nearer he's to setting.
.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.


Peach Tree in Bloom
Peach Tree in Bloom | Source

Mary Dow Brine

Mary Dow Brine (1816 – 1913) was an American poet and novelist.


April

by Mary Dow Brine

Full of moods, and full of pranks,
Who on earth can trust thy face?
Thy promises, however fair,
Thou dost at any time forswear,
Spite of all thine artless grace.
Blue thine eyes, and bright thy face.
What of that? Thou art not true!
Smiles one moment, tears the next;
One day pleased, the other--vexed:
No one knows what thou wilt do.
Oh, we know thee thro' and thro',
Wayward, saucy child of Spring!
Thy very birth makes fools of men.
And all throughout thy careless reign,
Cloud and sunshine dost thou bring.


William Blake
William Blake

William Blake

William Blake (1757 – 1827) was an artist and poet from London, England. He is known for his religious works which often portrayed visions he experienced since childhood.


To Spring

by William Blake

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell one another, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn'd
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.


Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 – 1894) was a Scotsman who wrote the well-known novels Treasure Island and Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

He was also a poet and generations of children were raised on the poetry in his book of poems, A Child's Garden of Verses, which has been in continuous publication since 1885.


Lovers
Lovers | Source

Spring Song (by Stevenson)

by Robert Louis Stevenson

The air was full of sun and birds,
The fresh air sparkled clearly.
Remembrance wakened in my heart
And I knew I loved her dearly.

The fallows and the leafless trees
And all my spirit tingled.
My earliest thought of love, and Spring's
First puff of perfume mingled.

In my still heart the thoughts awoke,
Came lone by lone together –
Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love
A mere affair of weather?


Amy Lowell
Amy Lowell

Amy Lowell

Amy Lowell (1874 – 1925) was an American poet who transitioned from formal verse to free verse, under the influence of more popular contemporary poets. She was also among the first poets to write poetic prose as a form of poetry.

A year after her death, she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.


Mount Monadnock (New Hampshire, U.S.)
Mount Monadnock (New Hampshire, U.S.) | Source

Monadnock in Early Spring

by Amy Lowell (1875 – 1925)

Cloud-topped and splendid, dominating all
The little lesser hills which compass thee,
Thou standest, bright with April's buoyancy,
Yet holding Winter in some shaded wall
Of stern, steep rock; and startled by the call
Of Spring, thy trees flush with expectancy
And cast a cloud of crimson, silently,
Above thy snowy crevices where fall
Pale shrivelled oak leaves, while the snow beneath
Melts at their phantom touch. Another year
Is quick with import. Such each year has been.
Unmoved thou watchest all, and all bequeath
Some jewel to thy diadem of power,
Thou pledge of greater majesty unseen.


Spring Haikus

These spring Haikus are from two traditional Japanese poets and are presented here in English translation. The queen of the Japanese spring is the cherry tree in blossom and this is a common image in haiku poetry.

Japanese Flowering Cherry
Japanese Flowering Cherry | Source

Matsuo Bashō

Matsuo Bashō (1644 – 1694) is Japan's most famous haiku poet. Here are some of his most-loved Spring Haikus.


Cherry Tree in Blossom
Cherry Tree in Blossom

From All Directions

by Matsuo Bashō

From all directions
Winds bring petals of cherry
Into the Grebe Lake.


From All These Trees

by Matsuo Bashō

From all these trees –
In salads, soups, everywhere –
Cherry blossoms fall.


Spring Air

by Matsuo Bashō

Spring air --
Woven moon
And plum scent.


Spring Departs

by Matsuo Bashō

Spring departs.
Birds cry
Fishes' eyes are filled with tears.


Suigin Grove and Masaki
Suigin Grove and Masaki | Source

Kobayashi Issa

Kobayashi Issa (1763 - 1828) was a Japanese poet and priest. It is said that he wrote more than 20,000 haiku poems in his lifetime. Here are some of his spring haikus.


Every Tree

by Kobayashi Issa

Every tree
With its calling card...
Spring buds.


Spring Peace

by Kobayashi Issa

Spring peace--
After rain, a gang war
Garden sparrows.


Once Again

by Kobayashi Issa

Once again
I've managed not to die...
Blossoming spring.

American Poetry Review
American Poetry Review

Find the best of new poetry. Price is one-year subscription to the magazine.

 

Poems about the Meaning of Spring

What is the meaning of Spring?

In this group of poems, each poet presents a unique answer to this question. To some, spring is renewal; to some, it represents an awareness that life is as temporary as the spring season.

These poems reflect the personal experiences and philosophies of the poets who wrote them.

Chestnut Tree in Bloom
Chestnut Tree in Bloom | Source
Spring Landscape
Spring Landscape | Source

Arthur Symons

Arthur Symons (1865 – 1945) was a British editor, playwright and poet. His spring poem below is an excerpt from the book featured at the right.

At forty-four, he began a cycle of twenty years of depression. He battled the psychosis and emerged to write about it in 1930. The poem below was written before his diagnosis.


The Coming of Spring (by Symons)

by Arthur Symons

Spring is come back, and the little voices are calling,
The birds are calling, the little green buds on the trees,
A song in the street, and an old and sleepy tune;
All the sounds of the spring are falling, falling,
Gentle as rain, on my heart, and I hear all these
As a sick man hears men talk from the heart of a swoon.

The clamours of spring are the same old delicate noises,
The earth renews its magical youth at a breath,
And the whole world whispers a well-known, secret thing;
And I hear, but the meaning has faded out of the voices;
Something has died in my heart: is it death or sleep?
I know not, but I have forgotten the meaning of spring.


'Chaku', First Year Goshawk
'Chaku', First Year Goshawk | Source

Henry David Thoreau

Henry David Thoreau (1817 – 1862) was an American writer and naturalist. His credo was 'Simplify, simplify, simplify!'


To a Marsh Hawk in Spring

by Henry David Thoreau

There is health in thy gray wing,
Health of nature’s furnishing.
Say, thou modern-winged antique,
Was thy mistress ever sick?
In each heaving of thy wing
Thou dost health and leisure bring,
Thou dost waive disease and pain
And resume new life again.


Flowering Garden
Flowering Garden | Source

Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene

Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene was an American poet who was born in 1840. The poem below is from her collection of poems, The Magdalen and Other Poems, published in 1890.


Spring (by Greene)

by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene

A flood of light, a deep-drawn breath,
That through the being shuddereth,
With rapturous coming back from death.

A flash of song, a glint of wings,
The starting of a thousand springs,
A thousand runnel murmurings:

Life thrills in the awakened clod,
The cowslips' breath--the crocus' nod,
The stir of nestlings--here is God.


Louise Glück
Louise Glück
Wild Iris
Wild Iris

Go see the full reviews and the contents of this collection of poems.

 

Louise Glück

Louise Glück is an American poet and a recipient of the Pulitzer Prize in Poetry. She is currently Writer in Residence at Yale University. The spring poem below is an excerpt from her highly acclaimed collection, Wild Iris, featured at the right.


Snowdrops

by Louise Glück

So you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.

I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn't expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring--

afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy

in the raw wind of the new world.


Daffodils
Daffodils

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick (1591–1674) is the author of Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May, which appears in a section above.


To Daffodils

by Robert Herrick

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day .
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.


We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.


Alan Seeger

Alan Seeger (1888 – 1916) was an American poet who died in battle during World War I. the poem below, a favorite of President John F. Kennedy, was published posthumously. (His nephew is folk singer Pete Seeger.)


I Have a Rendezvous with Death

by Alan Seeger

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.


It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.


God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.


William Carlos Williams

William Carlos Williams (1883 – 1963) was an American poet and he was also a medical doctor. His spring poem below was published in 1923 and is an excerpt from the collection featured at the right.


Spring and All – Part I

by William Carlos Williams

By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast-a cold wind. Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen


patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees


All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines-


Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches-


They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind-


Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined-
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf


But now the stark dignity of
entrance-Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted, they
grip down and begin to awaken


Spring Poems for Kids

Spring poems for kids delight in discovering nature. The children's poems are filled with flowers, spring rains, birds and, most of all, joy in the season. Some of these you will probably remember from your own childhood.

Camille Monet and a Child in the Artist’s Garden in Argenteuil
Camille Monet and a Child in the Artist’s Garden in Argenteuil | Source
April Showers
April Showers

April Showers

by Karen Chappell

April showers bring May flowers,
That is what they say.
But if all the showers turned to flowers,
We’d have quite a colourful day!

There’d be bluebells and cockleshells,
Tulips red and green,
Daffodils and Chinese squill,
The brightest you’ve ever seen.

You’d see tiger lilies and water lilies,
Carnations pink and blue,
Forget-me-not and small sundrop
Glistening with the dew.

We’d have fireweed and milkweed
And many more different flowers.
Mexican star and shooting star,
Falling in the showers.

And if all the showers turned to flowers
On that rainy April day,
Would all the flowers turn to showers
In the sunny month of May?


Spring, from the Four Seasons Cycle in Stained Glass
Spring, from the Four Seasons Cycle in Stained Glass | Source

This poem by William Blake has delighted children ever since he first published it in 1789:


Spring (by Blake)

by William Blake

Sound the flute!
Now it’s mute.
Birds delight
Day and night;
Nightingale
In the dale,
Lark in sky,
Merrily,
Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.


Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes (1902 – 1967) was a prolific America writer, Civil Rights activist and poet. Among his many novels, plays and non-fiction books, he wrote several books for children. Much of his poetry is written with the rhythm of jazz music.


April Rain Song

by Langston Hughes

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night—
And I love the rain.


Windflowers
Windflowers | Source

Mary Dow Brine

Mary Dow Brine (1816 – 1913) was an American author who wrote many novels in her lifetime. Her works are preserved today by the Library of Congress and available for print-on-demand.


Gathering Flowers in May

by Mary Dow Brine

Welcome, welcome, beautiful May!
Welcome thou, and thy garlands gay!
The earth is glad with thy sunny smile,
And sweet with the breath of new-mown hay.
Lavish of all thy glory, thou:
See! thou hast flung thy treasures down
Till the earth is gay in her new-found wealth,
And jubilant in her floral crown.

Fairer thou art, oh, beautiful May!
Than even thy sister, whose reign is o'er,
The blue-eyed April, who wept and smiled,
And softened the earth so cold before.
She sang of thee, and our hearts were glad
With thoughts of the joys sweet May would bring;
We longed for thee and thy merry hours.
Oh, thou most beautiful month of spring!

There are sounds of pleasure o'er all the earth;
There are sweet birds singing in bush and tree;
There are laughing voices, and songs of mirth,
And joyous faces to welcome thee.
There are busy fingers in every field
Plucking thy treasures rich and rare;
Oh, May! so lovingly bountiful,
Welcomes must greet thee everywhere.


An Orchard in Spring
An Orchard in Spring | Source

The Coming of Spring (by Brine)

by Mary Dow Brine

The ice-king trembles on his throne,
And holds his rod with loosened hand;
For there are murmurs in the air
Of one who cometh, sweet and fair,
To break with smiles the monarch's band.

The skies are dawning a new blue,
To welcome her whose dancing feet
Thro' cloudland hasten from afar,
Guided by sun, and moon, and star,
Her waiting friends once more to greet

The timid violets lift their heads,
And heavenward turn their gentle eyes,
And catch the fragrance newly born
Which cometh with the Spring's glad dawn,
And steal their color from the skies.

The merry birds on twig and branch
Trill out the news with fluttering wings,
While Robin seeks the early fruit,
Impatient watching the green shoot,
And the glad tidings gaily sings.

The brook, grown weary of restraint,
Has burst its weakened bonds at last,
And rushing down the mountain-side,
Lends its fresh influence far and wide,
And Winter's icy reign is past!


Seasonal Songs in Motion
Seasonal Songs in Motion

from the Learning Station

 

Spring is Here

by The Learning Station

Spring is here.
Spring is here.
How do you think I know?
I just saw a bluebird,
That is how I know.
Spring is here.
Spring is here.
How do you think we know?
We just saw a bluebird, that is how we know.
Do the bird walk and strut your thing.
Do the bird walk and flap your wings.
Do the bird walk, do anything,
And look around for another sign of spring.

Sing verses changing underlined words to: bee, ladybug, butterfly, and frog. (When you sing the 'frog' verse, use 'jump' instead of 'walk' and jump like a frog!)


Louisa May Alcott

Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888) was an American writer, beloved for her series of children's books which began with Little Women.


Spring and Big Red Rose
Spring and Big Red Rose

Dear Grif

by Louisa May Alcott

"Dear Grif,
Here is a whiff
Of beautiful spring flowers;
The big red rose
Is for your nose,
As toward the sky it towers.


"Oh, do not frown
Upon this crown
Of green pinks and blue geranium
But think of me
When this you see,
And put it on your cranium."


Robin on Budding Branches
Robin on Budding Branches

To the First Robin

by: Louisa May Alcott

Welcome, welcome, little stranger,
Fear no harm, and fear no danger;
We are glad to see you here,
For you sing "Sweet Spring is near."
Now the white snow melts away;
Now the flowers blossom gay:
Come dear bird and build your nest,
For we love our robin best.


Nicholas Gordon

Nicholas Gordon is a former English professor at New Jersey City University. He is the author of several poetry collections.


"A Rose about to Bloom"
"A Rose about to Bloom" | Source

You Are the Rose About to Bloom

by Nicholas Gordon

You are the rose about to bloom,
The color soon to wake,
The perfume set to scent the breeze,
The bud about to break.

You stand upon the lip of time
Alight with what will be,
And see yourself out to the sky
Across the open sea.

We see you vertically, a gift
Too beautiful to plumb,
And treasure all the years you were
And all the years to come.


Watie W. Swanzy

Watie W. Swanzy wrote several books of poetry in her lifetime, all of which were published in the late 1880s.


Birds in Early Spring
Birds in Early Spring | Source

Birds of Spring

by Watie W. Swanz

Trooping o'er the meadows,
Chatter, chatter, chatter!
Greeting pussy willows,
Twitter, twitter, twitter!
Pluming each light wing,
Sipping at the spring,
Flitting here and there,
Sweet birds everywhere!

First awake at morning,
Chirping, chirping, chirping!
First to greet the day-king,
Trilling, trilling, trilling!
Then a happy fly
Far up in the sky,
Coming back to rest
And to take breakfast.

Choosing glossy mate,
Flatter, flatter, flatter!
In doubt which one to take,
Flutter, flutter, flutter!
Difficult task to do,
To find a mate that's true,
Perfect in every thing,
From bill to tip of wing.

Fixing up the old nests,
Busy, busy, busty!
Bringing sticks for new rests,
Hurry, hurry, hurry!
Bits of moss and thread
Make a downy bed
To roll the eggs about
While they're hatching out.

Watching the butterfly,
Slily, slily, slily!
Trying like birds to fly,
Silly, silly, silly!
As if a worm could vie
With birds that always fly,
Although their wings so quaint
With gaudy colors paint.

Singing to daisies white
Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly!
And to buttercups bright,
Gayly, gayly, gayly!
To snowdrops emerald set,
Crocus and violet,
Cheerily, cheerily sing,
Birds of the early spring.


Apple Trees in Blossom
Apple Trees in Blossom | Source

William Wilsey Martin

William Wilsey Martin (1833-1913) was a British poet whose collections are available through print-on-demand from Cornell University Library.


Mavis (Song Thrush)
Mavis (Song Thrush)
The Old Apple Tree
The Old Apple Tree | Source
Apple Trees in Bloom
Apple Trees in Bloom | Source
A Garden in Blossom
A Garden in Blossom | Source

Apple Blossoms

by William Wilsey Martin

Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring?
In the spring?
An English apple orchard in the spring?
When the spreading trees are hoary
With their wealth of promise-glory,
And the mavis pipes his story
In the spring!

Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring?
In the spring?
And caught their subtle odors in the spring?
Pink buds pouting at the light,
Crumpled petals baby-white,
Just to touch them--a delight!
In the spring!

Have you walk'd beneath the blossoms in the spring?
In the spring?
Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring?
When the pink cascades are falling,
And the silver brooklets brawling,
And the cuckoo bird is calling,
In the spring!

Have you seen a merry bridal in the spring?
In the spring?
In an English apple-county in the spring?
When the bride and maidens wear
Apple blossoms in their hair,
Apple blossoms everywhere
In the spring!

If you have not, then you know not, in the spring,
In the spring!
Half the color, beauty, wonder of the spring.
No sweet sight can I remember
Half so precious, half so tender,
As the apple blossoms render
In the spring!


Edith M. Thomas

Edith Matilda Thomas (1854 – 1925) was an American poet who wrote many books of poetry. Her first book was published in 1888. Here is one of her most-loved poems about spring for kids.


Tree in Springtime
Tree in Springtime

Talking in Their Sleep

by Edith M. Thomas

"You think I am dead,"
The apple tree said,
"Because I have never a leaf to show
Because I stoop,
And my branches droop,
And the dull gray mosses over me grow!

"But I'm still alive in trunk and shoot;
The buds of next May
I fold away –
But I pity the withered grass at my root."

"You think I am dead,"
The quick grass said,
"Because I have parted with stem and blade!
But under the ground,
I am safe and sound
With the snow's thick blanket over me laid.

"I'm all alive, and ready to shoot,
Should the spring of the year
Come dancing here –
But I pity the flower without branch or root."

"You think I am dead,"
A soft voice said,
"Because not a branch or root I own.
I never have died, but close I hide
In a plumy seed that the wind has sown.

"Patient I wait through the long winter hours;
You will see me again –
I shall laugh at you then,
Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers."


Mary de Morgan

Mary de Morgan (1850 – 1907) was a British writer who is most well-known for her volumes of fairy tales for children.


Cypress, April, 1904
Cypress, April, 1904 | Source

Spring Song (by Morgan)

by Mary de Morgan

I wandered in the well-known path,
The sky was bright and blue,
The trees were clad in freshest green,
The sunlight streaming through.

The nightingales were singing loud
Their love-songs from the vale,
The purling brooklet, as it flowed
Seemed chanting a sweet tale.

O whence this gladness in the air?
And wherefore do ye sing?
The little birds were answering me:--
"Rejoice, for it is spring!"

Rejoice, for it is spring! I cried;
Rejoice for all the year!
For winter too--there is no death
In Nature--have no fear!

And joying thus for all the year,
More joyful could I sing
Than bird, or brooklet flowing by:
"Rejoice, for it is spring!"


Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver is an American poet who was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.


Window to Spring
Window to Spring | Source

Spring in the Classroom

by Mary Oliver

Elbows on dry books, we dreamed
Past Miss Willow Bangs, and lessons, and windows,
To catch all day glimpses and guesses of the greening woodlot,
Its secrets and increases,
Its hidden nests and kind.
And what warmed in us was no book-learning,
But the old mud blood murmuring,
Loosening like petals from bone sleep.
So spring surrounded the classroom, and we suffered to be kept indoors,
Droned through lessons, carved when we could with jackknives
Our pulsing initials into the desks, and grew
Angry to be held so, without pity and beyond reason,
By Miss Willow Bangs, her eyes two stones behind glass,
Her legs thick, her heart
In love with pencils and arithmetic.

So it went — one gorgeous day lost after another
While we sat like captives and breathed the chalky air
And the leaves thickened and birds called
From the edge of the world — till it grew easy to hate,
To plot mutiny, even murder. Oh, we had her in chains,
We had her hanged and cold, in our longing to be gone!
And then one day, Miss Willow Bangs, we saw you
As we ran wild in our three o’clock escape
Past the abandoned swings; you were leaning
All furry and blooming against the old brick wall
In the Art Teacher’s arms.


Robert Browning

Robert Browning (1812 – 1889) was an English poet who married another famous English poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

The poem below is from a Robert Browning play called Pippa Passes. The entire play is written in poetry. Pippa's Song is one of the most famous children's poems for spring.


Pippa's Song

by Robert Browning

The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven —
All's right with the world!


Find more season poems for kids in this amazing collection which contains the poems of 119 famous poets.

You'll find poems for every season in this book. In all, there are more than 200 little poems.

Go read the rave reviews from Publishers Weekly, from parents and from teachers for this wonderful children's book.

Related Content

Spring Collections

Spring Pictures
Spring Pictures

Here are two collections of images for spring. The first collection has more than 200 pictures for the spring season:

Spring Pictures

___________________________

Spring Clip Art
Spring Clip Art

This collection contains more than 125 pieces of clip art for the spring season:

Spring Clip Art

___________________________

Poetry Collections

Find more of this writer's poetry collections in the following articles:

Winter Poems
Winter Poems

Read 50 Winter Poems, with haikus about winter, snow poems, and winter poems for kids:

Winter Poems and Winter Poems for Kids

_____________________________

War Poetry
War Poetry

Read this collection of war poems and poems written by soldiers in combat. Poems are presented from 9 wars and include Vietnam War songs.

War Poems

_____________________________

Poem about Peace
Poem about Peace

Read a narrative poem about peace which includes 20 poetic definitions of peace from an award-winning poet:

Poem about Peace

_____________________________

Poems about Jerusalem
Poems about Jerusalem
Divorce Poems
Divorce Poems

Read the poetry about the spiritual center of the world: Jerusalem. This collection includes poems about Jerusalem from ancient to modern, including Jerusalem songs & liturgical poetry.

Poems about Jerusalem

_____________________________

Find divorce poems in this collection, including one from a Pulitzer Prize Winning anthology of poems about divorce:

Divorce Poems

_____________________________

Share - don't copy.

The variances in spelling, grammar, punctuation and capitalization within the poetry on this page belong to the original texts of the poems, as they first appeared in publication. These nuances are part of the individual poems as spices are to recipes.

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    • FlourishAnyway profile image

      FlourishAnyway 3 years ago from USA

      What a lovely, diverse collection of poetry. I like that you have included such a variety, including your own. Voted up and more, plus sharing and pinning. Given this cold January, we need to have something to look forward to!

    • Writer Fox profile image
      Author

      Writer Fox 3 years ago from the wadi near the little river

      Hi Flourish. I'm so glad you like this collection. I know it's just a little early for spring, but it will certainly come when all the snow melts. thank you so much for your comment and for sharing. I appreciate it!

    • Nell Rose profile image

      Nell Rose 3 years ago from England

      Wow! this must have taken you forever to write! And what a beautiful and varied lot of poems! And I loved yours too in the middle! so many to choose from but funnily enough my favorite, after reading Larkins and thinking, yes he's the one, was one I had never heard of, that was Always Marry an April Girl, for some reason I just really liked that one, what a marvelous hub! worthy of HOBD! voted up and shared! nell

    • AliciaC profile image

      Linda Crampton 3 years ago from British Columbia, Canada

      This is a lovely collection of poems, WriterFox. I'm familiar with some of the poems, but many of them are new for me. It's going to take me several visits to read them all. I'm looking forward to the process very much!

    • Writer Fox profile image
      Author

      Writer Fox 3 years ago from the wadi near the little river

      Hi Nell Rose: Thank you so much for taking the time to comment on this collection. I'm glad you found a favorite poem here. I like that Ogden Nash poem, too.

    • Writer Fox profile image
      Author

      Writer Fox 3 years ago from the wadi near the little river

      Thank you Alicia for your comment. Google is sending a lot of visitors to my Winter Poems collection right now, but spring is not that far away. I bet you Canadians really look forward to it after so much snow!

    • jhamann profile image

      Jamie Lee Hamann 3 years ago from Reno NV

      Wow, what an amazing collection of modern poets and brilliantly presented. Jamie

    • Writer Fox profile image
      Author

      Writer Fox 3 years ago from the wadi near the little river

      Hi J: Thanks for your comment. Let me know if you have one of your poems you'd like me to add here.

    • DDE profile image

      Devika Primić 3 years ago from Dubrovnik, Croatia

      SPRING POEMS: 60 Best Spring Poems and Spring Poems for Kids are so interesting and well written. You certainly have a great collection.

    • Writer Fox profile image
      Author

      Writer Fox 3 years ago from the wadi near the little river

      I'm glad you found this collection, DDE. It's new!

    • Sheri Faye profile image

      Sheri Dusseault 3 years ago from Chemainus. BC, Canada

      Wow! I have book marked this to read a few at a time. Beautiful pics ! Come on spring. Great hub and will pin it!

    • Writer Fox profile image
      Author

      Writer Fox 3 years ago from the wadi near the little river

      I'm glad you liked this, Sheri. Thank you so much for commenting and pinning!

    • profile image

      Edwin Harris 3 years ago

      Superb collection and my hat tip to the editor.

    • Writer Fox profile image
      Author

      Writer Fox 3 years ago from the wadi near the little river

      Thank you for the feedback, Edwin.

    • FictionFish profile image

      Kurt Frazier Sr 2 years ago from Mobile Al

      I really enjoyed the variety of Spring poems. Being August here in Alabama the heat of the day is a constant foe to relaxation. Through these poems I was able to escape the heat and enjoy the day.

      I have this bookmarked on my bar so that I can return often and read more. Thumbs up for your efforts.

    • Writer Fox profile image
      Author

      Writer Fox 2 years ago from the wadi near the little river

      Hi FictionFish, Spring actually starts on September 1st in the southern hemisphere. So, some people will have springtime very soon! Thanks for the comment.

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