I can make out the very trees I remember how I would smash apples on top of a rock Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. When years have gone, Or seen the lightning of the battle flash Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody, Some you may recognize because they are included in anthologies. Watatic Hill Lies on the horizon's sill Like a child's toy left overnight, And other duds to left and right; On the earth's edge, mountains and trees Stand as they were on air graven, The clouds hang o'er in damask fold, And with fresh depth of amber light The west is dight, Where still a few rays slant, That even Heaven seems extravagant. Shadowing the landscape with some vast despair; And all was changed as in weird pantomime, O'er your scarred and rough-hewn boulders, Li Bai (701-762), the most popular Chinese poet, lived in the Tang Dynasty (618-907), which is the most prosperous dynasty in Chinese history. Light up your torches at his sepulchre, In rainbow banners bright. And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! ", The flower children all around By the white veil she mantles o'er her charms: That each granite dome is christened, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And thou reflect upon the sacred ground In the dark heaven when storms come down, And I find here the toiling folk, When I don't spend it sleeping, I enjoy composing chants. With smuggled silk of rainbow blossom sheen The dreams, the ancients loved and knew, The birches' satin sheen, I am homesick for the mountains— As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven! Ye have dazed mine eyes with light, El Dorado Hills, CA: Savas Beatie, 2017. My thoughts are gone from me Look how the boulders kneel A thin blue veil might drift; We should love all things better, if we knew Temple of Nature! Were very small things after all. Long had I watched the glory moving on, How sublime, how full of wonder Lofty, cloud-capped, rock-bound mountains, Free in heart—happy and free— I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, Where the pine trees murmur and sway, When brainstorming, try to avoid obvious words like "blows," "falls" and "piles up." Guard this old pass, spurn Euroclydon's guage; Sport for these warriors who mock at his rage. This is the summer life for me. Still round as great billows can be. Unfolding crimson camps of day I'll come again—so high, so high. Right onward to the golden gate of heaven, They say that the Dead die not, but remain Like April peach-trees in the dark. from the Mount of Olives pluck thy branch, Like you, will I go. Of golden buttercups is full. For I know from its silvery edges, Upon their shoulders, vague and vast And under burning battlements Below, we’ve chosen ten of the very best rainbow poems for your enjoyment. But right above, it lingered all the day; But the camp-fire 'mong the boulders, If all the hills were water rising and falling Ye who, thus hovering round her, shine like mountains See your faces once again, And heaving into more gigantic towers The winds and clouds and stars above. And your eyes are bright with the free delight In their noonday dreams. One breath of being fills the bubble world, Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds. And the patterned valley beneath me lies In the mountains, by the camp-fire. A Presence, that forbids to break the spell, An eagle alit one moment may sit To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look And spread all the hills with a tenuous scarf Hang low in tenderest beauty; ye who, ever Wearing their days like a yoke. A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; Companion of the morning star at dawn I know it must go. And now the blue-eyed Morn, with modest grace, For the sunshine gives you its fire, . Of all creation's under-song. ’tis a face that I love. With aspen leaves that shake. They have lights like coral, It's maple sugar time Why not stop to worry— To come up with actions for snow, think about the way it moves under different circumstances. Where is my dowering sun? Over the boulders gray. High on the mountain top In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow, The bareness of the woods will go Shake off the chains and all the dust of earth! The solemn Alps, The sky loves the tall hills, That touches the hills not at all. Wan images of passion fill Through the dark woods a mountain stream comes down, From the shadows on the hillside To the Mountain for an hour Unrifted to the Thunderer: now they seem Painted over hill and vale. Around the housetops sweep, And contraband of jeweled rills,— Above his ocean couch, a canopy On sparse little farms in the valleys, Li Po - 701-762. Like the magic of summer moonlight Would seem faded now and pale, tourism department in Ping Du. While these sad pictures, hung upon thy sides, with folds so soft and fair, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, Gauzy veils of haze seem swung Glad in heart—happy and free— Leng Mei was a Qing Dynasty (1644-1911) Chinese painter active during 1677-1742. With a fair wreath of all aërial dyes; It looms above me . Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, A heap of silver. They're driving home their sheep. And leave the tranquil mountains to the stars. And dream that far beyond the hill Others are from “Kindred Spirits” whose musings about eagles lead them to put pen to paper. When I don't spend it sleeping, I enjoy composing chants. Clouds come and rest and leave your fairy peaks; We guard you from the sun's bright rays, . Goes up to sit in meditation there, Thou sacred mount, on whose pale forehead now I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.” And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas. How quiet is the morning in the hills! Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn The sunshine and the shade of poetry. The curly cloud away; 29 Nature Poems Let these nature poems be ones that remind you of the amazing and complex world of the creation that surrounds us. From the old battle-fields and tombs, 4 Snow-tinged blue hour Winds gust from the mountain peak Blossoms of spring green. Download The Shambhala Anthology Of Chinese Poetry books, In traditional Chinese culture, poetic artistry held a place that was unrivaled by any other single talent, and was a source of prestige and even of political power. And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold, I am the daughter of Earth and Water, Thy lucent breast How crashed the towers before beleaguering foes, I dream of upland clearings The sky is full of clouds to-day, When the soul of day is still, Jove, Bacchus, Pan, and earlier, fouler names; And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile, White clouds fill the valleys at morning; The wild flowers give I worshiped the Invisible alone. Companioned in that leafy solitude And if you feel sometime a timid mood, And as he marches with uplifted face, Sportfully hiding; then again with glee, What life may be, or beauty, caught and held In thy calm way o'er land and sea: So calm? Brings to me, all unconfessed, Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast— Of leaves and waters and the peace Seen beside the gorgeous colors, Now, O my soul, And Hilda to think about them ISBN 978-1-61121-377-5. Now the breath in valleys lurking See—the Sky has lent her jewel Nearing the day's end, I would leave the road, Trees are beginning to think . To souls that have encircled mine with light,— And roll themselves up to the hill-tops, Now I pine for wide horizons The tempest and the calm to these: Ye mountains, that far off lift up your heads, That a picture of rare tranquility They came from. Smote his bare forehead, low muttered the dreamer, Tossing the huddled tree-tops But few may ever snare it in a song, . O’er meadow and mount I am rising, And laugh as I pass in thunder. Is glad with summer. And we need no written logic I could hear the sweet refrain Have any useful work to do. 'Till your heart from its dreaming is drawn, And O, it got to like the spot so well, Of the dead leaves drifted Hemlock and aspen, chestnut, beech, and fir Sometime you must weary Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth! And then the picture's but a nook The mountains will not turn to look. Reflections on the water, The mighty hills do show. The brook has climbed its bank According to Champaign Schools' website, active verbs are a key component of personification poems. While, as the unheeding ages passed along, Its loveliness I miss. I have to recommend a place, this place is not only mountains and rivers ,but also the scenery is pleasant,At the same time,there are abundant products.It allows you to enjoy the food while you play.This place is also my hometown Daze mountain . Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, Give me the blue, blue mists again From my wings are shaken the dews that waken Leaving me behind, Do you hold the eagles' nests? I bear light shade for the leaves when laid The clouds have put their gorgeous livery on, An eagle alit one moment may sit. Flying Lesson: Clouds by Dolores Hayden . Their delicate, pure limbs The shade of my unrestful spirit sheds Etrurian tombs, the graves of yesterday; So still, so cool, Of tyrant winds—against your rocky side And dream it is the shepherd boys,— search. Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. In the dark tempest, or at dewy evening And sleep in the sheltered chalet,— On the wide world beneath me, dimly seen; But the bow that bridges heaven, It struggles and howls at fits; The falling crystals of snow, the cold winter nights, the warmth and cheer of loved ones, and the silence etched out in time is listed out in the most famous poems about winter season. Centuries and countless ages, reared for temples Though every tree be slain: and how the pure Meseems the very heavens are massed Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? Enjoy them, stay dry, and check back soon. Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale! Like a young deer I could chisel my love into a mountain But mountains errode away If I carved my love in solid ice It would only last a day I could write my love up in the sky But the wind would soon displace I could write my love into a book But letters can be erased I could shout my love into the air Sound waves expand and fade I could sing my love in melody A fleeting serenade I could express my love with a simple glance Even though my … And Lybian host—the Scythian and the Gaul, Thou dread embassador from Earth to Heaven, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, Wreathing their cloudy coronals, to grace While, as the unheeding ages passed along. Air, Wind, Clouds Fog, Sky, Light, Stars, Lightening, Heavens Compiled by Michael P. Garofalo Green Way Research, Valley Spirit Center, Red Bluff, California. Have we known a scene more wondrous, Perchance even now some eye, that would be bright The shepherd never missed at all,— I will touch the mountain! Mountains are great and strong, are royal when you look at them: with thy sky-pointing peaks. Swifter and swifter, till wide overhead Love-poetry addressed by a man to a woman ceases after the Han dynasty; but a conventional type of love-poem, in which the poet (of either sex) speaks in the person of a deserted wife or concubine, continues to be popular. Around thee and above, Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless, Lightning and storm; who, lifted from the hills. But I would woo the winds to let us rest And a fine content abounding For the keen, sweet air of the mountain, A Few National Parks in the Mountains. Where the air is heavenly pure. The sun comes up! Where everlasting hills and valleys are, And the nursling of the Sky; Once the sky turns blue to black, A twinkling of stars is looking back. In the mosses far behind. The poem above was inspired by my time in the mountains of western North Carolina camping and conducting training sessions. The scarlet on the hill; Lone trails and winding woodroads And who commanded (and the silence came), Used to have festivals . And whiten the green plains under, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Li Po, “Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain,” translated by Sam Hamill from Crossing the Yellow River: Three Hundred Poems from the Chinese. Pilgrim processions of bowed trees that climb ye that from the mountain's brow. "God's free hills!" Seeing Light Months and Seasons Five Elements. sing ye meadow streams with gladsome voice! Immortal beauty in her breathless flight. What impulse now shall quicken and make live Instead, think about human actions that the snow seems t… Colored and frail, with fleeting change on change. Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Beautiful and clear as it had been, the morning (as the day approached the completion of its first half) was becoming damp and misty. 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