Spring.

I am coming, I am coming,
    With my carpet soft and green;
I have spread it o'er the common,
    And a prettier ne'er was seen.

Soon I'll spangle it with clover,
    And the dandelions bright;
You shall pick them in your aprons,
    Yellow, red, and snowy white.

I am coming, and the tree-tops,
    That all winter were so bare,
You shall see, with small leaves covered,
    Wave their branches in the air.

I am coming! Little children,
    Can you tell me who am I?
If not, you will soon remember,
    For I'm just now passing by.

H. P. Nichols

No biography available

H. P. Nichols

The Angels.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

The Child And The Flower-Elf.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Evening Hymn.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Morning Hymn.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Winter.

With my breath so keen and chilling,
    I have stripped the branches bare;
And my snow-flakes white are filling,
    Feather-like, the frosty air.

Coming o'er the lofty mountains,
    There I left a robe of white;
I have locked the sparkling fountains,
    I have chained the river bright.

O'er the quiet valley winging,
    There I left my traces, too;
Hark! the merry sleigh-bells ringing,
    With their music call on you.

I have come! The school-boy shouting,
    Joyfully brings out his sled;
He has seen me, nothing doubting,
    As across the fields he sped.

I have come; but shall I find you
    Better than the former year?
If you've cast your faults behind you,
    I shall gladly greet you here.

H. P. Nichols

Spring Has Come

Intra Muros

The sunbeams, lost for half a year,
Slant through my pane their morning rays;
For dry northwesters cold and clear,
The east blows in its thin blue haze.

And first the snowdrop's bells are seen,
Then close against the sheltering wall
The tulip's horn of dusky green,
The peony's dark unfolding ball.

The golden-chaliced crocus burns;
The long narcissus-blades appear;
The cone-beaked hyacinth returns
To light her blue-flamed chandelier.

The willow's whistling lashes, wrung
By the wild winds of gusty March,
With sallow leaflets lightly strung,
Are swaying by the tufted larch.

The elms have robed their slender spray
With full-blown flower and embryo leaf;
Wide o'er the clasping arch of day
Soars like a cl...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Autumn.

Here's the purple aster,
    And the golden-rod,
And the blue fringed gentian,
    By the meadow sod.

And the scarlet cardinal
    Grows beside the brook,
And the yellow sunflower
    In some sheltered nook.

Maple boughs are covered
    With their foliage red,
And the withered elm leaves
    On the ground lie dead.

And within the orchard,
    Heavy-laden trees
Shower down the apples,
    With each passing breeze.

So by these we know thee,
    Lovely autumn time,
With thy deep blue heavens,
    And thy snowy rime.

And we gladly greet thee,
    With thy colors gay,
Though thou tell'st us summer
    Hence hath fled away.

H. P. Nichols

A Song For May Morning.

Awake! awake! the dusky night
    Is fading from the sky;
Awake! and with the early light
    To pleasant fields we'll hie.
Come with me, and I will show
Where the fragrant wild-flowers grow;
We will weave a garland gay
For our smiling Queen of May.

The sun peeps up behind the hills,
    And hark! the morning song
Of little birds the fresh air fills,
    As now we skip along.
By the brook-side cold and wet,
Blooms the pale, white violet;
There's the purple blossom, too,
Nodding with its weight of dew.

The gentle wind just lifts the head
    Of many a columbine;
And, taken from their rocky bed,
    They in our wreaths shall twine.
Saxifrage, so small and sweet,
Grows in plenty at our feet;
From the grass we gather up,

H. P. Nichols

Spring's Messengers

Where slanting banks are always with the sun
The daisy is in blossom even now;
And where warm patches by the hedges run
The cottager when coming home from plough
Brings home a cowslip root in flower to set.
Thus ere the Christmas goes the spring is met
Setting up little tents about the fields
In sheltered spots.--Primroses when they get
Behind the wood's old roots, where ivy shields
Their crimpled, curdled leaves, will shine and hide.
Cart ruts and horses' footings scarcely yield
A slur for boys, just crizzled and that's all.
Frost shoots his needles by the small dyke side,
And snow in scarce a feather's seen to fall.

John Clare

Spring

Come, gentle Spring, and show thy varied greens
In woods, and fields, and meadows, by clear brooks;
Come, gentle Spring, and bring thy sweetest scenes,
Where peace, with solitude, the loveliest looks;
Where the blue unclouded sky
Spreads the sweetest canopy,
And Study wiser grows without her books.

Come hither, gentle May, and with thee bring
Flowers of all colours, and the wild briar rose;
Come in wind-floating drapery, and bring
Fragrance and bloom, that Nature's love bestows--
Meadow pinks and columbines,
Kecksies white and eglantines,
And music of the bee that seeks the rose.

Come, gentle Spring, and bring thy choicest looks,
Thy bosom graced with flowers, thy face with smiles;
Come, gentle Spring, and trace thy wandering brooks,
Through m...

John Clare