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Spring Poems

Spring Cards

It is the spring air, which makes us feel so alive and wonderful! Flowers blooming, birds chirping, the heady aroma of the flowers and some beautiful spring poems to go with it, in the form of poems – it is the perfect way to spend a day during the spring season. Many poets and common people, as well have penned some of the most beautiful, spring poems. Listening or reading one of these poems is a nice experience, not only during the spring time, but at any time.

The spring poems sing praises about many things. Some spring poets have the beautiful season in mind; while some of them depict their love for various things and some other prefer to sing praises about the beautiful things in life during the spring season, while wiring the poems.

Spring season is not just about writing the spring pomes, there are many other wonderful things associated with this season.

Writing the poems is an interesting spring activity, which one can indulge in. It doesn’t matter if they have the knack for it or not, they can just pen down their thoughts during this lovely season. Some of the spring poems are given here:

Daffodils
I wandered 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 stretched 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
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but 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
~ William Wordsworth

Showery Time
The April rain-drops tinkle
In cuckoo-cups of gold,
And warm south winds unwrinkle
The buds the peach-boughs hold.

In countless fluted creases
The little elm-leaves show,
While white as carded fleeces
The dogwood blossoms blow.

A rosy robe is wrapping
The early red-bud trees;
But still the haws are napping,
Nor heed the honey-bees.

And still in lazy sleeping
The apple-buds are bound,
But tulip-tips are peeping
From out the garden ground.

And yonder, gayly swinging
Upon the turning vane,
A robin redbreast singing
Makes merry at the rain!
~ Evaleen Stein