21 Poems to Help You Get in Touch with Mother Nature

One of the best ways to get in touch with nature and appreciate its beauty is through poetry. Poets have a way of magically observing and recording the world around them, inviting us all into their unique insight. 

Through poems on nature, we can see the world in a way we may have never considered before. We can slow down and connect with the earth around us. 

There are beautiful, captivating poems on every form of scenery and nature that you could imagine, so it may be hard to know where to start. 

Today we’ll share some nature poems that honor the serenity and beauty of nature. 

“The Gray Heron” by Galway Kinnell

It held its head still

while its body and green

legs wobbled in wide arcs

from side to side. When

it stalked out of sight,

I went after it, but all

I could find where I was

expecting to see the bird

was a three-foot-long lizard

in ill-fitting skin

and with linear mouth

expressive of the even temper

of the mineral kingdom.

It stopped and tilted its head,

which was much like

a fieldstone with an eye

in it, which was watching me

to see if I would go

or change into something else.


“A Walk in the Woods” by Delainef



“The Eagle” by Alfred Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ringed with the azure world, he stands.


The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.


“Seaside Blooming” by M.L Kiser


speaks harmonies

turquoise-emerald hues

blissful coral passions emerge

to kiss 

the heavenly cotton nimbus

that sails in bluest skies

light revelry

in bloom.


“Rain Haiku” by David Fox

Rain hits my window

Angels tap-dancing softly

A heavenly sound


“The Rose That Grew from Concrete” by Tupac Shakur

Did you hear about the rose that grew

from a crack in the concrete?

Proving nature’s law is wrong it

learned to walk with out having feet.

Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams,

it learned to breathe fresh air.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete

when no one else ever cared.


Untitled by Joes Poem a Day


“300 Goats” by Naomi Shihab NYE

In icy fields.

Is water flowing in the tank?

Will they huddle together, warm bodies pressing?

(Is it the year of the goat or the sheep?

Scholars debating Chinese zodiac,

follower or leader.)

O lead them to a warm corner,

little ones toward bulkier bodies.

Lead them to the brush, which cuts the icy wind.

Another frigid night swooping down —

Aren’t you worried about them? I ask my friend,

who lives by herself on the ranch of goats,

far from here near the town of Ozona.

She shrugs, “Not really,

they know what to do. They’re goats.”

“Over the Wintry” by Natsume Sōseki

Over the wintry

Forest, winds howl in rage

With no leaves to blow.

The Road Not 

“The Sun Rising” by John Donne


“Frogs Eat Butterflies. Snakes Eat Frogs. Hogs Eat Snakes. Men Eat Hogs.” by Wallace Stevens

It is true that the rivers went nosing like swine,

Tugging at banks, until they seemed

Bland belly-sounds in somnolent troughs,


That the air was heavy with the breath of these swine,

The breath of turgid summer, and

Heavy with thunder’s rattapallax,


That the man who erected this cabin, planted

This field, and tended it awhile,

Knew not the quirks of imagery,


That the hours of his indolent, arid days,

Grotesque with this nosing in banks,

This somnolence and rattapallax,


Seemed to suckle themselves on his arid being,

As the swine-like rivers suckled themselves

While they went seaward to the sea-mouths.


“Lessons From Nature” by Anonymous



“The Way Through the Woods” by Rudyard Kipling

They shut the road through the woods

Seventy years ago.

Weather and rain have undone it again,

And now you would never know

There was once a road through the woods

Before they planted the trees.

It is underneath the coppice and heath,

And the thin anemone


Click here to read on. 


“Water” by Ralph Waldo Emerson

The water understands

Civilization well;

It wets my foot, but prettily,

It chills my life, but wittily,

It is not disconcerted,

It is not broken-hearted:

Well used, it decketh joy,

Adorneth, doubleth joy:

Ill used, it will destroy,

In perfect time and measure

With a face of golden pleasure

Elegantly destroy.


“A Letter to the Sun From the Dark Side of the Moon” by Ranata Suzuki


“Peaceful Spring Morning” by Billy R. Warner

Fresh spring morning time.

That’s the sound of solitude,

the presence of peace.

Dear Future Generations: Sorry by Prince Ea



“There Will Come Soft Rains” by Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;


And frogs in the pools singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white,


Robins will wear their feathery fire

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;


And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.


Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree

If mankind perished utterly;


And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,

Would scarcely know that we were gone.


“Daffodils” by William Wordsworth’



“Stoping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   


My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   


He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   


The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

“To Autumn” by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,  

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless  

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,  

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;      

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells  

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,      

For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.


Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?  

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,  

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,  

Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook      

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep  

Steady thy laden head across a brook;  

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,      

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.


Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?  

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,–

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,  

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn  

Among the river sallows, borne aloft      

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;  

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft  

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;      

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

These are just a few of the incredible nature poems out there. Crave Books has more books and poems about nature. Search among our huge selection of best-selling books today! Click here to create a free account. 

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