95 Poems about Flowers to Share the Beauty of Life

Flowers have always been a source of inspiration for poets throughout history.

Their beauty and fragility have served as metaphors for life, love, and the human experience.

Poems about flowers capture the essence of these delicate blooms and express the wonder and magic that they bring to the world.

In this article, we will explore a range of flower poems, from famous classics to modern works that celebrate the beauty of these natural wonders.

So let’s get started. Here’s to bloom with poetry!

Table of Contents

Famous Poems about Flowers

Some of the most celebrated poets in history have penned poems about flowers. These famous flower poems have secured a place for themselves and continue to inspire generations of readers.

1. Flowers

by Felicia Hemans

Welcome, O pure and lovely forms! again
Unto the shadowy stillness of my room!
For not alone ye bring a joyous train
Of summer-thoughts attendant on your bloom—
Visions of freshness, of rich bowery gloom,
Of the low murmurs filling mossy dells,
Of stars that look down on your folded bells
Through dewy leaves, of many a wild perfume
Greeting the wanderer of the hill and grove
Like sudden music: more than this ye bring—
Far more; ye whisper of the all-fostering love
Which thus hath clothed you, and whose dove-like wing
Broods o’er the sufferer drawing fever’d breath,
Whether the couch be that of life or death.

2. Sun Flowers

by Hilda Conkling

Sun-flowers, stop growing!
If you touch the sky where those clouds are passing
Like tufts of dandelion gone to seed,
The sky will put you out!
You know it is blue like the sea . . .
Maybe it is wet, too!
Your gold faces will be gone forever
If you brush against that blue
Ever so softly!

3. Pieria’s Rose

by John Myers O’Hara

Pale death shall come, and thou and thine shall be,
Then and thereafter, to all memory
Forgotten as the wind that yesterday
Blew the last lingering apple buds away;

For thou hadst never that undying rose
To grace the brow and shed immortal glows;
Pieria’s fadeless flower that few may claim
To wreathe and save thy unremembered name.

Ay! even on the fields of Dis unknown,
Obscure among the shadows and alone,
Thy flitting shade shall pass uncomforted
Of any heed from all the flitting dead.

But no one maid, I think, beneath the skies,
At any time shall live and be as wise,
In sooth, as I am; for the Muses Nine
Have made me honored and their gifts are mine;

And men, I think, will never quite forget
My songs or me; so long as stars shall set
Or sun shall rise, or hearts feel love’s desire,
My voice shall cross their dreams, a sigh of fire.

4. Crowned

by Amy Lowell

You came to me bearing bright roses,
Red like the wine of your heart;
You twisted them into a garland
To set me aside from the mart.
Red roses to crown me your lover,
And I walked aureoled and apart.

Enslaved and encircled, I bore it,
Proud token of my gift to you.
The petals waned paler, and shriveled,
the thorns started through.
er thorns to proclaim me your lover,
A diadem woven with rue.

5. Sea Rose

by H. D.

Rose, harsh rose,
marred and with stint of petals,
meagre flower, thin,
sparse of leaf,

more precious
than a wet rose
single on a stem—
you are caught in the drift.

Stunted, with small leaf,
you are flung on the sand,
you are lifted
in the crisp sand
that drives in the wind.

Can the spice-rose
drip such acrid fragrance
hardened in a leaf?

6. Water-Lilies

by Felicia Hemans

Come away, elves!—while the dew is sweet,
Come to the dingles where fairies meet!
Know that the lilies have spread their bells
O’er all the pools in our forest dells;
Stilly and lightly their vases rest
On the quivering sleep of the water’s breast,
Catching the sunshine through leaves that throw
To their scented bosoms an emerald glow;
And a star from the depth of each pearly cup,
A golden star unto heaven looks up,
As if seeking its kindred where bright they lie,
Set in the blue of the summer sky.
Come away! Under arching boughs we’ll float,
Making those urns each a fairy boat;
We’ll row them with reeds o’er the fountains free,
And a tall flag-leaf shall our streamer be;
And we’ll send out wild music so sweet and low,
It shall seem from the bright flower’s heart to flow,
As if ’twere a breeze with a flute’s low sigh,
Or water-drops train’d into melody.
Come away! for the midsummer sun grows strong,
And the life of the lily may not be long.

7. Transplanted

by Emily Dickinson

As if some little Arctic flower,
Upon the polar hem,
Went wandering down the latitudes,
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer,
To firmaments of sun,
To strange, bright crowds of flowers,
And birds of foreign tongue!
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden wandered in —
What then? Why, nothing, only,
Your inference therefrom!

8. Consider the Lilies of the Field

by Christina Rossetti

Flowers preach to us if we will hear:–
The rose saith in the dewy morn,
I am most fair;
Yet all my loveliness is born
Upon a thorn.
The poppy saith amid the corn:
Let but my scarlet head appear
And I am held in scorn;
Yet juice of subtle virtue lies
Within my cup of curious dyes.
The lilies say: Behold how we
Preach without words of purity.
The violets whisper from the shade
Which their own leaves have made:
Men scent our fragrance on the air,
Yet take no heed
Of humble lessons we would read.

But not alone the fairest flowers:
The merest grass
Along the roadside where we pass,
Lichen and moss and sturdy weed,
Tell of His love who sends the dew,
The rain and sunshine too,
To nourish one small seed.

9. Rose Pogonias

by Robert Frost

A saturated meadow,
Sun-shaped and jewel-small,
A circle scarcely wider
Than the trees around were tall;
Where winds were quite excluded,
And the air was stifling sweet
With the breath of many flowers,—
A temple of the heat.

There we bowed us in the burning,
As the sun’s right worship is,
To pick where none could miss them
A thousand orchises;
For though the grass was scattered,
Yet every second spear
Seemed tipped with wings of color,
That tinged the atmosphere.

We raised a simple prayer
Before we left the spot,
That in the general mowing
That place might be forgot;
Or if not all is favoured,
Obtain such grace of hours,
That none should mow the grass there
While so confused with flowers.

10. Nature IV

by Emily Dickinson

Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower?
But I could never sell.
If you would like to borrow
Until the daffodil

Unties her yellow bonnet
Beneath the village door,
Until the bees, from clover rows
Their hock and sherry draw,

Why, I will lend until just then,
But not an hour more!

Beautiful Poems about Flowers

Poetry has the power to evoke strong emotions and paint vivid pictures in the mind. These beautiful flower poems capture the essence of their beauty and offer a glimpse into the wonder of the natural world.

1. Fides, Spes

by Willa Cather

Joy is come to the little
Everywhere;
Pink to the peach and pink to the apple,
White to the pear.
Stars are come to the dogwood,
Astral, pale;
Mists are pink on the red-bud,
Veil after veil.
Flutes for the feathery locusts,
Soft as spray;
Tongues of the lovers for chestnuts, poplars,
Babbling May.
Yellow plumes for the willows’
Wind-blown hair;
Oak trees and sycamores only
Comfortless bare.
Sore from steel and the watching,
Somber and old,—
Wooing robes for the beeches, larches,
Splashed with gold;
Breath o’ love to the lilac,
Warm with noon.—
Great hearts cold when the little
Beat mad so soon.
What is their faith to bear it
Till it come,
Waiting with rain-cloud and swallow,
Frozen, dumb?

2. The Rhodora

by The Rhodora

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals fallen in the pool
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that, if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for Being;
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask; I never knew;
But in my simple ignorance suppose
The self-same power that brought me there, brought you.

3. ‘Tis Spring, My Love, ‘Tis Spring

by John Clare

’TIS Spring, my love, ’tis Spring,
And the birds begin to sing:
If ’t was Winter, left alone with you,
Your bonny form and face,
Would make a Summer place,
And be the finest flower that ever grew.

Tis Spring, my love, ’tis Spring,
And the hazel catkins hing,
While the snowdrop has its little blebs of dew;
But that’s not so white within
As your bosom’s hidden skin—
That sweetest of all flowers that ever grew.

The sun arose from bed,
All strewn with roses red,
But the brightest and the loveliest crimson place
Is not so fresh and fair,
Or so sweet beyond compare,
As thy blushing, ever smiling, happy face.

I love Spring’s early flowers,
And their bloom in its first hours,
But they never half so bright or lovely seem
As the blithe and happy grace
Of my darling’s blushing face,
And the happiness of loves young dream.

4. Spring in Tulwa Thlocco

by Alexander Posey

Thro’ the vine-embowered portal blows
The fragrant breath of summer-time;
Far, the river, brightly winding, goes
With murmurs falling into rhyme.

It is spring in Tulwa Thlocco now;
The fresher hue of grass and tree
All but hides upon the mountain’s brow
The green haunts of the chickadee.

There are drifts of plum blooms, snowy white,
Along the lane and greening hedge;
And the dogwood blossoms cast a light
Upon the forest’s dusky edge.

Crocus, earliest flower of the year,
Hangs out its starry petals where
The spring beauties in their hiding peer,
And the red-buds crimson all the air.

5. Before Quiet

by Hazel Hall

I will think of water-lilies
Growing in a darkened pool,
And my breath shall move like water,
And my hands be limp and cool.

It shall be as though I waited
In a wooden place alone;
I will learn the peace of lilies
And will take it for my own.

If a twinge of thought, if yearning
Come like wind into this place,
I will bear it like the shadow
Of a leaf across my face.

6. Follies

by Carl Sandburg

Shaken,
The blossoms of lilac,
And shattered,
The atoms of purple.
Green dip the leaves,
Darker the bark,
Longer the shadows.

Sheer lines of poplar
Shimmer with masses of silver
And down in a garden old with years
And broken walls of ruin and story,
Roses rise with red rain-memories.
May!
In the open world
The sun comes and finds your face,
Remembering all.

7. May-Flower

by WilliamEmily Dickinson

Pink, small, and punctual,
Aromatic, low,
Covert in April,
Candid in May,
Dear to the moss,
Known by the knoll,
Next to the robin
In every human soul.
Bold little beauty,
Bedecked with thee,
Nature forswears
Antiquity.

8. Only Morning-Glory That Flowered

by Hilda Conkling

Under the vine I saw one morning-glory
A tight unfolding bud
Half out.
He looked hard down into my lettuce-bed.
He was thinking hard.
He said I want a friend!
I was standing there:
I said, Well, I am here! Don’t you see me?
But he thought and thought.

The next day I found him happy,
Quite out,
Looking about the world.
The wind blew sweet airs,
Carried away his perfume in the sun;
And nearby swung a new flower
Uncurling its hands . . .
He was not thoughtful
Anymore!

9. The Jasmine

by Ruby Archer

Oh, do you love the jasmine,
That flower of the heart,
Of dreams and rapture redolent,
Nor far from tears apart?
That blossom born of earth?
What miracle ‘twould be!
I dare imagine other birth—
Behold my theory:
A jasmine flower of heaven
Came down the Milky Way;
And finding here such piteous need,
Thought merciful to stay.

Short Poems about Flowers

Short and pretty, these poetries about flowers pack a punch in just a few lines. Perfect for when you need a quick burst of inspiration or a moment of contemplation.

1. Golden Glories

by Christina Rossetti

The buttercup is like a golden cup,
The marigold is like a golden frill,
The daisy with a golden eye looks up,
And golden spreads the flag beside the rill,
And gay and golden nods the daffodil,
The gorsey common swells a golden sea,
The cowslip hangs a head of golden tips,
And golden drips the honey which the bee
Sucks from sweet hearts of flowers and stores and sips.

2. My Pretty Rose Tree

by William Blake

A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said “I’ve a pretty rose tree,”
And I passed the sweet flower o’er.
Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

3. The Dandelion

by Vachel Lindsay

O dandelion, rich and haughty,
King of village flowers!
Each day is coronation time,
You have no humble hours.
I like to see you bring a troop
To beat the blue-grass spears,
To scorn the lawn-mower that would be
Like fate’s triumphant shears.
Your yellow heads are cut away,
It seems your reign is o’er.
By noon you raise a sea of stars
More golden than before.

4. Apotheosis

by Emily Dickinson

Come slowly—Eden
Lips unused to Thee—
Bashful—sip thy Jessamines
As the fainting Bee—

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums—
Counts his nectars—
Enters—and is lost in Balms.

5. The White Rose

by John Boyle O’Reilly

The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

6. A White Blossom

by D.H. Lawrence

A tiny moon as white and small as a single jasmine flower
Leans all alone above my window, on night’s wintry bower,
Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft as brilliant water or rain
She shines, the one white love of my youth, which all sin cannot stain.

7. With a Flower

by Emily Dickinson

I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too —
And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.

8. The Lily

by William Blake

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat’ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

9. Harebells in June

by Annette Wynne

Ring slender bells an elfin tune,
To summon all the elves of June;
It’s time to make the plans for summertime,
Chime, little bells, along the river, chime;
And let me lie with ear close to the ground,
To hear the witching sound.
Ring slender bells this bonny weather,
Call all the elves of June together.

Long Poems about Flowers

Sometimes a short poem is not enough to express the complexity and depth of emotions that flowers can evoke. These long poetries about flowers offer a more in-depth exploration of the beauty and symbolism of flowers.

1. The Wanderer and the Night Flowers

by Felicia Hemans

“Call back your odours, lovely flowers!
From the night-winds call them back;
And fold your leaves till the laughing hours
Come forth in the sunbeam’s track!

“The lark lies couch’d in her grassy nest,
And the honey-bee is gone,
And all bright things are away to rest—
Why watch ye here alone?

“Is not your world a mournful one,
When your sisters close their eyes,
And your soft breath meets not a lingering tone
Of song in the starry skies?

“Take ye no joy in the dayspring’s birth
When it kindles the sparks of dew?
And the thousand strains of the forest’s mirth,
Shall they gladden all but you?

“Shut your sweet bells till the fawn comes out
On the sunny turf to play,
And the woodland child with a fairy shout
Goes dancing on its way!”

“Nay! let our shadowy beauty bloom
When the stars give quiet light,
And let us offer our faint perfume
On the silent shrine of night.

“Call it not wasted, the scent we lend
To the breeze, when no step is nigh:
Oh, thus forever the earth should send
Her grateful breath on high!

“And love us as emblems, night’s dewy flowers,
Of hopes unto sorrow given,
That spring through the gloom of the darkest hours
Looking alone to heaven!”

2. The Yellow Violet

by William Cullen Bryant

When beechen buds begin to swell,
And woods the blue-bird’s warble know,
The yellow violet’s modest bell
Peeps from the last year’s leaves below.

Ere russet fields their green resume,
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.

Of all her train, the hands of Spring
First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming
Beside the snow-bank’s edges cold.

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,
And earthward bent thy gentle eye,
Unapt the passing view to meet,
When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day,
Thy early smile has stayed my walk;
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May,
I passed thee on thy humble stalk.

So they, who climb to wealth, forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried.
I copied them—but I regret
That I should ape the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of light,
I’ll not o’erlook the modest flower
That made the woods of April bright.

3. Buttercups and Daisies

by Mary Howitt

Buttercups and daisies,
Oh, the pretty flowers,
Coming ere the spring time,
To tell of sunny hours.
While the tree are leafless,
While the fields are bare,
Buttercups and daisies
Spring up here and there.

Ere the snowdrop peepeth,
Ere the crocus bold,
Ere the early primrose
Opes its paly gold,
Somewhere on the sunny bank
Buttercups are bright;
Somewhere ‘mong the frozen grass
Peeps the daisy white.

Little hardy flowers,
Like to children poor,
Playing in their sturdy health
By their mother’s door,
Purple with the north wind,
Yet alert and bold;
Fearing not, and caring not,
Though they be a-cold!

What to them is winter!
What are stormy showers!
Buttercups and daisies
Are these human flowers!
He who gave them hardships
And a life of care,
Gave them likewise hardy strength
And patient hearts to bear.

4. Red Carnations

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

One time in Arcadie’s fair bowers
There met a bright immortal band,
To choose their emblems from the flowers
That made an Eden of that land.

Sweet Constancy, with eyes of hope,
Strayed down the garden path alone
And gathered sprays of heliotrope,
To place in clusters at her zone.

True Friendship plucked the ivy green,
Forever fresh, forever fair.
Inconstancy with flippant mien
The fading primrose chose to wear.

One moment Love the rose paused by;
But Beauty picked it for her hair.
Love paced the garden with a sigh
He found no fitting emblem there.

Then suddenly he saw a flame,
A conflagration turned to bloom;
It even put the rose to shame,
Both in its beauty and perfume.

He watched it, and it did not fade;
He plucked it, and it brighter grew.
In cold or heat, all undismayed,
It kept its fragrance and its hue.

“Here deathless love and passion sleep,”
He cried, “embodied in this flower.
This is the emblem I will keep.”
Love wore carnations from that hour.

5. Past-Present-Future

by Browne

THE time when I played with the king-cup flowers,
Those golden gifts of summer hours ;
The time when I danced o’er the purple heath,
And scarcely felt the earth beneath,
And, smiling, looked to the sky above,
That spread o’er me in cloudless love ;
When my step was as light as the roving wind,
That kissed the flowers in my tresses twined ;
When my eyes undimmed by a dark tear shone, –
That blessed time is gone, is gone !
The time when I loved to sit at noon,
And hearken to the wood-bird’s tune;
When the flowers and leaves upon each tree,
Were more than flowers and leaves to me;

When my spirit in fancy floated along,
And around my heart was a dream of song;
The time when I lay by the river’s side,
That had words for me in its murmuring tide ;
When my life, like the waves of the stream, went on,
Bright, pure, and sparkling, —is gone, is gone!
And the hours of darkness and days of gloom,
That shadow and shut out joy, are come;
And there’s a mist on the laughing sea,
And the flowers and leaves are nought to me;
And on my brow are furrows left,
And my lip of ease and smile is reft ;
And the time of gray hairs and trembling limbs,
And the time when sorrow the bright eye dims,
And the time when death seems nought to fear,
So sad is life, is here, is here !
But the time when the quiet grave shall be
A haven, a resting-place for me;
When the strong ties of earth are wrenched,
And the burning fever of life is quenched ;
When the spirit shall leave its mortal mould,
And face to face its God behold ;
When around it joy and gladness shall flow,
Purer than ever it felt below ;
When heaven shall be for ever its home, –
Oh! this holiest time is still to come!

6. On a Flower from the Field of GRütli

by Felicia Hemans

Whence art thou, flower? From holy ground,
Where freedom’s foot hath been!
Yet bugle-blast or trumpet-sound
Ne’er shook that solemn scene.

Flower of a noble field! thy birth
Was not where spears have cross’d,
And shiver’d helms have strewn the earth,
Midst banners won and lost.

But where the sunny hues and showers
Unto thy cup were given,
There met high hearts at midnight hours,
Pure hands were raised to heaven;

And vows were pledged that man should roam
Through every Alpine dell
Free as the wind, the torrent’s foam,
The shaft of William Tell.

And prayer, the full deep flow of prayer,
Hallow’d the pastoral sod;
And souls grew strong for battle there,
Nerved with the peace of God.

Before the Alps and stars they knelt,
That calm devoted band,
And rose, and made their spirits felt
Through all the mountain-land.

Then welcome, Grütli’s free-born flower!
Even in thy pale decay
There dwells a breath, a tone, a power,
Which all high thoughts obey.

7. The Flower at My Window

by Lucian B. Watkins

O! my heart now feels so cheerful as I go with footsteps light
In the daily toil of my dear home;
And I’ll tell to you the secret that now makes my life so bright—
There’s a flower at my window in full bloom.

It is radiant in the sunshine, and so cheerful after rain;
And it wafts upon the air its sweet perfume.
It is very, very lovely! May its beauties never wane—
This dear flower at my window in full bloom.

Nature has so clothed it in such glorious array,
And it does so cheer our home, and hearts illume;
Its dear mem’ry I will cherish though the flower fade away—
This dear flower at my window in full bloom.

Oft I gaze upon this flower with its blossoms pure and white.
And I think as I behold its gay costume,
While through life we all are passing may our lives be always bright
Like this flower at my window in full bloom.

8. The Song of the Morning Glories

by Isadore Baker

So faintly flushing, freshly fair—
Born of the dawn and dew,
They seem but blossoms of the air—
Of sky-ethereal hue.
The pink and while of sunset cloud,
The blue of firmament;
They toll their sweetness slowly, low,
As some rare instrument.
Didst hear these elfln bugles blow
The music of the spheres,
Didst hear these wind-stirred bells a-chime
In morn of summer years?
The poor man’s roses. Thus they bloom
In lone and lowly places,
And peep behind the lattice bars
Like wistful baby faces.
La France may boast her fleur-de-lis,
And Erin isle, the clover;
Or England cherish “eyes-of-day,”
And Egypt lotus lover.
But edelweiss, or thistle-bloom,
Though known to song and story,
Hath ne’er the grace, nor winsome face,
Of New World morning glory.
Ephemeral—yet each new day
Hath gift as fair in waiting,
No loss of vital chemic force
If death be new creating.
Red, white and blue, thy colors true
In flag or blossom tender,
In glow of star, or crimson bar,
In art or nature’s splendor.
O poet, sing this flower of song,
As Cambridge bard of fleur-de-lis,
The iris by the river marge,
Or golden lily of the lea.
Bloom on! O glory of the morn,
Guest of the passing hour,
Thou art to kindred beauty born,
Though but a summer flower.

Poems about Flowers That Rhyme

Rhyme and meter have long been an essential part of poetry. These rhyming poems about flowers use rhyme to add musicality and enhance their impact.

1. The Stricken Flower

by John Myers O’Hara

Think not to ever look as once of yore,
Atthis, upon my love; for thou no more
Wilt find intact upon its stem the flower
Thy guile left slain and bleeding in that hour.

So ruthless shepherds crush beneath their feet
The hill flower blooming in the summer heat;
The hyacinth whose purple heart is found
Left bruised and dead, to darken on the ground.

2. Ah! Sunflower

by William Blake

Ah! sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller’s journey is done;

Where the youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves and aspire;
Where my sunflower wishes to go.

3. Matins

by Henry van Dyke

Flowers rejoice when night is done,
Lift their heads to greet the sun;
Sweetest looks and odours raise,
In a silent hymn of praise.

So my heart would turn away
From the darkness to the day;
Lying open in God’s sight
Like a flower in the light.

4. For Daughters of Magdalen

by Countee Cullen

Ours is the ancient story:
Delicate flowers of sin,
Lilies, arrayed in glory,
That would not toil nor spin.

5. Sonnet 2

by Gwendolyn Bennett

Some things are very dear to me—
Such things as flowers bathed by rain
Or patterns traced upon the sea
Or crocuses where snow has lain …
the iridescence of a gem,
The moon’s cool opalescent light,
Azaleas and the scent of them,
And honeysuckles in the night.
And many sounds are also dear—
Like winds that sing among the trees
Or crickets calling from the weir
Or Negroes humming melodies.
But dearer far than all surmise
Are sudden tear-drops in your eyes.

6. See How the Roses Burn

by Hafez

See how the roses burn!
Bring wine to quench the fire!
Alas! the flames come up with us,—
We perish with desire.

7. The Snow-Blossoms

by Clark Ashton Smith

But yestereve the winter trees
Reared leafless, blackly bare,
Their twigs and branches poignant-marked
Upon the sunset-flare.
White-petaled, opens now the dawn,
And in its pallid glow,
Revealed, each leaf-lorn, barren tree
Stands white with flowers of snow.

8. Fringed Gentians

by Amy Lowell

Near where I live there is a lake
As blue as blue can be, winds make
It dance as they go blowing by.
I think it curtseys to the sky.

It’s just a lake of lovely flowers
And my Mamma says they are ours;
But they are not like those we grow
To be our very own, you know.

We have a splendid garden, there
Are lots of flowers everywhere;
Roses, and pinks, and four o’clocks
And hollyhocks, and evening stocks.

Mamma lets us pick them, but never
Must we pick any gentians — ever!
For if we carried them away
They’d die of homesickness that day.

9. The Ground Laurel

by Hannah Flagg Gould

I Love thee, pretty nursling
Of vernal sun and rain;
For thou art Flora’s firstling,
And leadest in her train.
When far away I found thee
It was an April morn;
The chilling blast blew round thee,
No bud had decked the thorn.
And thou alone wert hiding
The mossy rocks between,
Where, just below them gliding,
The Merrimack was seen.
And while my hand was brushing
The seary leaves from thee,
It seemed that thou wert blushing
To be disclosed to me.
So modest, fair and fragrant,
Where all was wild and rude,
To cheer the lonely vagrant
Who crossed thy solitude,—
Thou didst reward my ramble
By shining at my feet,
When, over brake and bramble,
I sought thy lone retreat,—
As some sweet flower of pleasure
Upon our path may bloom,
‘Mid rocks and thorns that measure
Our journey to the tomb!

Poems about Flowers for Children

Flowers can be a wonderful way to introduce children to the beauty of nature and inspire their creativity. These poems about flowers for kids are perfect for young readers or as a fun way to teach about flowers and their symbolism.

1. We Have a Little Garden

by Beatrix Potter

We have a little garden,
A garden of our own,
And every day we water there
The seeds that we have sown.

We love our little garden,
And tend it with such care,
You will not find a faded leaf
Or blighted blossom there.

2. Dandelion

by Evaleen Stein

Hey-a-day-a-day, my dear! Dandelion time!
Come, and let us make for them a pretty little rhyme!

See the meadows twinkling now, beautiful and bright
As the sky when through the blue shine the stars at night!

Once upon a time, folks say, mighty kings of old
Met upon a splendid field called “The Cloth of Gold.”

But, we wonder, could it be there was ever seen
Brighter gold than glitters now in our meadows green?

Dandelions, dandelions, shining through the dew,
Let the kings have Cloth of Gold, but let us have you!

3. Flowers Everywhere

by Anonymous

Flowers, flowers everywhere,
In the garden, in my hair.
In the vase and at the store,
On the table and on the door.
What a lovely time of year,
Flowers blooming everywhere!

4. Daffodowndilly

by A.A. Milne

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
“Winter is dead.”

5. The Violet

by Jane Taylor

Down in a green and shady bed
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,
As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colors bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

6. Dandelions

by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Welcome children of the Spring,
In your garbs of green and gold,
Lifting up your sun-crowned heads
On the verdant plain and wold.

As a bright and joyous troop
From the breast of earth ye came
Fair and lovely are your cheeks,
With sun-kisses all aflame.

In the dusty streets and lanes,
Where the lowly children play,
There as gentle friends ye smile,
Making brighter life’s highway

Dewdrops and the morning sun,
Weave your garments fair and bright,
And we welcome you to-day
As the children of the light.

Children of the earth and sun.
We are slow to understand
All the richness of the gifts
Flowing from our Father’s hand.

7. My Flower

by Anonymous

I had a little seed,
And I put it in a pot.

Put it in the sunshine,
And I watered it a lot.

I waited and I waited.
I watched it grow and grow.

And then one day a flower
Came out to say hello.

8. Le Jardin

by Oscar Wilde

The lily’s withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech-trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.

The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter, —hour by hour.

Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass:
The roses lie upon the grass
Like little shreds of crimson silk.

9. Flowers

by Mary Baker Eddy

Mirrors of morn
Whence the dewdrop is born,
Soft tints of the rainbow and skies—
Sisters of song,
What a shadowy throng
Around you in memory rise!

Far do ye flee,
From your green bowers free,
Fair floral apostles of love,
Sweetly to shed
Fragrance fresh round the dead,
And breath of the living above.

Flowers for the brave—
Be he monarch or slave,
Whose heart bore its grief and is still!
Flowers for the kind—
Aye, the Christians who wind
Wreaths for the triumphs o’er ill!

Poems about Flowers and Love

Flowers have long been associated with love and romance. These poems explore the connection between flowers and the complexities of human relationships.

1. The Seeds of Love

by Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham

I sowed the seeds of love, it was all in the spring,
In April, May, and June, likewise, when small birds they do sing;
My garden’s well planted with flowers everywhere,
Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself the flower that I loved so dear.

My gardener he stood by, I asked him to choose for me,
He chose me the violet, the lily and pink, but those I refused all three;
The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon,
The lily and the pink I did o’erlook, and I vowed I’d stay till June.

In June there’s a red rose-bud, and that’s the flower for me!
But often have I plucked at the red rose-bud till I gained the willow-tree;
The willow-tree will twist, and the willow-tree will twice,—
O! I wish I was in the dear youth’s arms that once had the heart of mine.

My gardener he stood by, he told me to take great care,
For in the middle of a red rose-bud there grows a sharp thorn there;
I told him I’d take no care till I did feel the smart,
And often I plucked at the red rose-bud till I pierced it to the heart.

I’ll make me a posy of hyssop,—no other I can touch,—
That all the world may plainly see I love one flower too much;
My garden is run wild! where shall I plant anew—
For my bed, that once was covered with thyme, is all overrun with rue?

2. My Love, Thou Art a Nosegay Sweet

by John Clare

MY love, thou art a nosegay sweet,
My sweetest flower I prove thee;
And pleas’d I pin thee to my breast,
And dearly do I love thee.

And when, my nosegay, thou shalt fade,
As sweet a flower thou’lt prove thee;
And as thou witherest on my breast,
For beauty past I’ll love thee.

And when, my nosegay, thou shalt die,
And heaven’s flower shalt prove thee;
My hopes shall follow to the sky,
And everlasting love thee.

3. A Very Wild Flower

by Mildred Howells

Within a garden once there grew
A flower that seemed the very pattern
Of all propriety; none knew
She was at heart a wandering slattern.

The gardener old, with care and pain,
Had trained her up as she should grow,
Nor dreamed amid his labor vain
That rank rebellion lurked below.

A name sufficiently high-sounding
He diligently sought for her,
Until he thought that “Rebounding
Elizabeth” he should prefer.

But when grown up the flower began
To show the tastes within her hidden;
At every chance quite wild she ran,
In spite of being sternly chidden.

They told her beds for flowers were best;
But daily greater grew her failings;
Up to the fence she boldly pressed,
And stuck her head between the palings.

Then to the street she struggled through,
Tearing to rags her silken attire,
And all along the road she grew,
Regardless quite of dust and mire.

You’ll find her now by country ways,
A tattered tramp, though comely yet,
With rosy cheek and saucy gaze,
And known to all as “Bouncing Bet.”

4. In the Heart of a Rose

by George Marion McClellan

I will hide my soul and its mighty love
In the bosom of this rose,
And its dispensing breath will take
My love wherever it goes.

And perhaps she’ll pluck this very rose,
And, quick as blushes start,
Will breathe my hidden secret in
Her unsuspecting heart.

And there I will live in her embrace
And the realm of sweetness there,
Enamored with an ecstasy,
Of bliss beyond compare.

5. Forget Me not

by Ruby Archer

High on the rocks and eternal snows
A delicate, wee blue blossom grows.
Far from all human care and love,
It lifts its face to the skies above
And prays, while fiercely the cold wind blows,
“O God, forget me not!”
The flower is blue from its love of the sky,
As a soul is merged in a worship high,
And its tiny heart is the sun’s own gold.
Hear it breathe its plea to the tempest bold
And the shrieking eagles that o’er it fly,
The sweet forget-me-not.
A beating heart o’er the flower goes,
And lo! the life-blood more quickly flows;
A sudden yearning fills it with pain,
‘Till it beats in tune to a low refrain
That every passionate being knows,—
“O Love, forget me not!”
Strange, how our spirits remembrance crave,
And long the wraith of a life to save—
A guide to the days that are no more,
Where only regret may wander o’er.
Yea, even the buried would have his grave
Inscribed “Forget me not.”

6. Dawn

by Adam Lindsay Gordon

On skies still and starlit
White lustres take hold,
And grey flushes scarlet,
And red flashes gold.
And sun-glories cover
The rose shed above her,
Like lover and lover
They flame and unfold.

7. The Broken Flower

by Felicia Hemans

Oh! wear it on thy heart, my love!
Still, still a little while!
Sweetness is lingering in its leaves,
Though faded be their smile.
Yet, for the sake of what hath been,
Oh, cast it not away!
’Twas born to grace a summer scene,
A long, bright, golden day,
My love!
A long, bright, golden day!

A little while around thee, love!
Its fragrance yet shall cling,
Telling, that on thy heart hath lain
A fair, though faded thing.
But not even that warm heart hath power
To win it back from fate,—
Oh! I am like thy broken flower,
Cherish’d too late, too late,
My love!
Cherish’d alas! too late!

8. A Spring Morning

by John Clare

THE Spring comes in with all her hues and smells,
In freshness breathing over hills and dells;
O’er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings,
And meads washed fragrant by their laughing springs.
Fresh are new opened flowers, untouched and free
From the bold rifling of the amorous bee.
The happy time of singing birds is come,
And Love’s lone pilgrimage now finds a home;
Among the mossy oaks now coos the dove,
And the hoarse crow finds softer notes for love.
The foxes play around their dens, and bark
In joy’s excess, ’mid woodland shadows dark.
The flowers join lips below; the leaves above;
And every sound that meets the ear is Love.

Poems about Flowers Blooming

The blooming of flowers is a sign of hope, renewal, and the beauty of life. These poems capture the magic of this process and celebrate the wonder of nature.

1. Leaves Compared with Flowers

by Robert Frost

A tree’s leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.

But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.

Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.

I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.

Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.

2. Fairy Song

by John Keats

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! O, weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.
Dry your eyes! Oh! dry your eyes!
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies—
Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!
‘Mong the blossoms white and red—
Look up, look up. I flutter now
On this flush pomegranate bough.
See me! ’tis this silvery bell
Ever cures the good man’s ill.
Shed no tear! O, shed no tear!
The flowers will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu—I fly, adieu,
I vanish in the heaven’s blue—
Adieu, adieu!

3. May to April

by Philip Freneau

Without your showers, I breed no flowers,
Each field a barren waste appears;
If you don’t weep, my blossoms sleep,
They take such pleasures in your tears.

As your decay made room for May,
So I must part with all that’s mine:
My balmy breeze, my blooming trees
To torrid suns their sweets resign!

O’er April dead, my shades I spread:
To her I owe my dress so gay—
Of daughters three, it falls on me
To close our triumphs on one day:

Thus, to repose, all Nature goes;
Month after month must find its doom:
Time on the wing, May ends the Spring,
And Summer dances on her tomb!

4. A Poet! He Hath Put His Heart to School

by William Wordsworth

A poet!–He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which art hath lodged within his hand–must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule.
Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff,
And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool,
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool
Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph.
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold;
And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree
Comes not by casting in a formal mould,
But from its own divine vitality.

5. Every Rose Hath Its Thorn

by James McIntyre

There was a maiden all forlorn,
She loved a youth, his name was Thorn,
But he was shy for to disclose
How he loved dear the sweet May Rose.

Lustre sweet it would give to Thorn,
If this fair flower would it adorn,
Said he all other names above
Your charming name alone I love.

Said she of beauty ’tis soon shorn,
Unless that it is joined to Thorn,
It very soon doth droop and die,
And she heaved a gentle sigh.

Said he we’ll wed to-morrow morn,
No more from me you shall be torn,
For you will banish all my woes,
And near my heart I’ll wear the rose.

Now little rose buds they are born,
All clinging to the parent Thorn,
In grace and beauty each one grows,
Full worthy of the sweet May Rose.

Some flowers they only shed their bloom
In the sweet month of leafy June,
But May doth bloom each month in year
A fragrant Rose forever dear.

6. The Flower of the Desert

by Felicia Hemans

Why art thou thus in thy beauty cast,
O lonely, loneliest flower!
Where the sound of song hath never pass’d
From human hearth or bower?

I pity thee, for thy heart of love,
For that glowing heart, that fain
Would breathe out joy with each wind to rove—
In vain, lost thing! in vain!

I pity thee, for thy wasted bloom,
For thy glory’s fleeting hour,
For the desert place, thy living tomb—
O lonely, loneliest flower!

I said—but a low voice made reply,
“Lament not for the flower!
Though its blossoms all unmark’d must die,
They have had a glorious dower.

“Though it bloom afar from the minstrel’s way,
And the paths where lovers tread;
Yet strength and hope, like an inborn day,
By its odours have been shed.

“Yes! dews more sweet than ever fell
O’er island of the blest,
Were shaken forth, from its purple bell,
On a suffering human breast.

“A wanderer came, as a stricken deer,
O’er the waste of burning sand,
He bore the wound of an Arab spear,
He fled from a ruthless band.

“And dreams of home in a troubled tide
Swept o’er his darkening eye,
As he lay down by the fountain-side,
In his mute despair to die.

“But his glance was caught by the desert’s flower,
The precious boon of heaven;
And sudden hope, like a vernal shower,
To his fainting heart was given.

“For the bright flower spoke of One above—
Of the presence felt to brood,
With a spirit of pervading love,
O’er the wildest solitude.

“Oh! the seed was thrown those wastes among
In a bless’d and gracious hour,
For the lorn one rose in heart made strong
By the lonely, loneliest flower!”

7. Promise

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I grew a rose within a garden fair,
And, tending it with more than loving care,
I thought how, with the glory of its bloom,
I should the darkness of my life illume;
And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty bud
Drink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.

My rose began to open, and its hue
Was sweet to me as to it sun and dew;
I watched it taking on its ruddy flame
Until the day of perfect blooming came,
Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red —
Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!

8. Flower God, God of the Spring

by Robert Louis Stevenson

FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful,
Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,
Here I wander in April
Cold, grey-headed; and still to my
Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer,
Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant;
Spring, flower-planter in meadows,
Child-conductor in willowy
Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses:
Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity:
O child, happy are children!
She still smiles on their innocence,
She, dear mother in God, fostering violets,
Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins:
Thus one cunning in music
Wakes old chords in the memory:
Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances.
One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal
Green – one more, and my bosom
Feels new life with an ecstasy.

Poems about Flowers and Life

Flowers are often used as symbols of the impermanence of life and the fleeting nature of beauty. These poems reflect on the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing every moment.

1. Fire-Flowers

by Emily Pauline Johnson

And only where the forest fires have sped,
Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands,
A sweet wild flower lifts its purple head,
And, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed,
It hides the scars with almost human hands.

And only to the heart that knows of grief,
Of desolating fire, of human pain,
There comes some purifying sweet belief,
Some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief.
And life revives, and blossoms once again.

2. Serepta Mason

by Edgar Lee Masters

My life’s blossom might have bloomed on all sides
Save for a bitter wind which stunted my petals
On the side of me which you in the village could see.
From the dust I lift a voice of protest:
My flowering side you never saw!
Ye living ones, ye are fools indeed
Who do not know the ways of the wind
And the unseen forces
That govern the processes of life.

3. Spring Song

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

A blue-bell springs upon the ledge,
A lark sits singing in the hedge;
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,
And life is brimming everywhere.
What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,
Is Spring, Spring, Spring!

No more the air is sharp and cold;
The planter wends across the wold,
And, glad, beneath the shining sky
We wander forth, my love and I.
And ever in our hearts doth ring
This song of Spring, Spring!

For life is life and love is love,
‘Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.
Life may be short, life may be long,
But love will come, and to its song
Shall this refrain for ever cling
Of Spring, Spring, Spring!

4. Weeds

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

White with daisies and red with sorrel
And empty, empty under the sky!—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
Here is a place for me to lie.

Daisies spring from damnèd seeds,
And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
Cursed by farmers thriftily.

But here, unhated for an hour,
The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a bastard flower,
Like flowers that bear an honest name.

And here a while, where no wind brings
The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things
The blood too bright, the brow accurst.

5. Life and Art

by Aldous Huxley

You have sweet flowers for your pleasure;
You laugh with the bountiful earth
In its richness of summer treasure:
Where now are your flowers and your mirth?
Petals and cadenced laughter,
Each in a dying fall,
Droop out of life; and after
Is nothing; they were all.

But we from the death of roses
That three suns perfume and gild
With a kiss, till the fourth discloses
A withered wreath, have distilled
The fulness of one rare phial,
Whose nimble life shall outrun
The circling shadow on the dial,
Outlast the tyrannous sun.

6. Requiescat in Pac

by Libbie C. Baer

Cover with flowers the wound of the dart,
Fill it with flowers, the void in the heart;
Tenderest thoughts are unfolding to-day,
Sweet as the blossoms a-bloom in the May.

Think not of suffering, bloodshed and strife,
Think not of loss that hath come to thy life,
Think of the peace with suffering done,
Think of the glories their sacrifice won.

7. Golden Pulse

by John Myers O’Hara

Golden pulse grew on the shore,
Ferns along the hill,
And the red cliff roses bore
Bees to drink their fill;

Bees that from the meadows bring
Wine of melilot,
Honey-sups on golden wing
To the garden grot.

But to me, neglected flower,
Phaon will not see,
Passion brings no crowning hour,
Honey nor the bee.

8. Petals

by Amy Lowell

Life is a stream
On which we strew
Petal by petal the flower of our heart;
The end lost in dream,
They float past our view,
We only watch their glad, early start.
Freighted with hope,
Crimsoned with joy,
We scatter the leaves of our opening rose;
Their widening scope,
Their distant employ,
We never shall know. And the stream as it flows
Sweeps them away,
Each one is gone
Ever beyond into infinite ways.
We alone stay
While years hurry on,
The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

Poems about Flowers and Plants

Flowers are just one part of the incredible diversity of the plant kingdom. These poems about plants and flowers celebrate the wonders of the natural world and the intricate web of life that supports us all.

1. The Rose

by John Myers O’Hara

If it pleased the whim of Zeus in an idle
Hour to choose a king for the flowers, he surely
Would have crowned the rose for its regal beauty,
Deeming it peerless;

By its grace is valley and hill embellished,
Earth is made a shrine for the lover’s ardor;
Dear it is to flowers as the charm of lovely
Eyes are to mortals;

Joy and pride of plants, and the garden’s glory,
Beauty’s blush it brings to the cheek of meadows;
Draining fire and dew from the dawn for rarest
Color and odor;

Softly breathed, its scent is a plea for passion,
When it blooms to welcome the kiss of Kypris;
Sheathed in fragrant leaves its tremulous petals
Laugh in the zephyr.

2. The Mower Against Gardens

by Andrew Marvell

Luxurious man, to bring his vice in use,
Did after him the world seduce,
And from the fields the flowers and plants allure,
Where nature was most plain and pure.
He first enclosed within the garden’s square
A dead and standing pool of air,
And a more luscious earth for them did knead,
Which stupefied them while it fed.
The pink grew then as double as his mind:
The nutriment did change the kind.
With strange perfumes he did the roses taint,
And flowers themselves were taught to paint.
The tulip, white, did for complexion seek,
And learned to interline its cheek;
Its onion root they then so high did hold,
That one was for a meadow sold.
Another world was searched, through oceans new,
To find the marvel of Peru.
And yet these rarities might be allowed,
To man, that sovereign thing, and proud,
Had he not dealt between the bark and tree,
Forbidden mixtures there to see.

3. A Lowly Flower

by Charles Budd

A flowering grass I rise
From the side of a far-spread lake,
Whose waters lave and fertilize,
And all my thirsty tissues slake.

The dews of Spring with gentle power
Evolve my glossy emerald leaves;
The colours of my fragrant flower
The rime of early Autumn weaves.

And yet in trembling fear I grow,
Lest root and stem should be uptorn
By sudden storm or rushing flow,
And leave me helpless and forlorn.

So here contented will I lie,
Although a plant of humble birth;
Nor try to soar to realms on high
Above the confines of the earth.

For never yet has living soul
By strength or wisdom changed his fate;
All things are under heaven’s control,
Who allocates to each his state.

4. Seeds and Gardens

by R.H. Swaney

If words are seeds,
let flowers grow
from your mouth,
not weeds.
If heart are gardens,
plant those flowers
in the chest of the ones
who exist around you.

5. The Shining Hours

by Frank Stuart Flint

Although we saw this bright garden, wherein we pass silently, flower before our eyes, it is rather in us that grows the pleasantest and fairest garden in the world.

For we live all the flowers, all the plants and all the grasses in our laughter and our tears of pure and calm happiness.

For we live all the transparencies of the blue pond that reflects the rich growths of the golden roses and the great vermilion lilies, sun-lips and mouths.

For we live all joy, thrown out in the cries of festival and spring of our avowals, wherein heartfelt and uplifting words sing side by side.

Oh! is it not indeed in us that grows the pleasantest and the gladdest garden in the world?

6. Mulberry Fields

by Lucille Clifton

they thought the field was wasting
and so they gathered the marker rocks and stones and
piled them into a barn they say that the rocks were shaped
some of them scratched with triangles and other forms they
must have been trying to invent some new language they say
the rocks went to build that wall there guarding the manor and
some few were used for the state house
crops refused to grow
I say the stones marked an old tongue and it was called eternity
and pointed toward the river i say that after that collection
no pillow in the big house dreamed i say that somewhere under
here moulders one called alice whose great grandson is old now
too and refuses to talk about slavery i say that at the
masters table only one plate is set for supper i say no seed
can flourish on this ground once planted then forsaken wild
berries warm a field of bones
bloom how you must i say

7. What I Would Like to Grow in My Garden

by Katherine Riegel

Peonies, heavy and pink as ’80s bridesmaid dresses
and scented just the same. Sweet pea,
because I like clashing smells and the car
I drove in college was named that: a pea-green
Datsun with a tendency to backfire.
Sugar snap peas, which I might as well
call memory bites for how they taste like
being fourteen and still mourning the horse farm
I had been uprooted from at ten.
Also: sage, mint, and thyme—the clocks
of summer—and watermelon and blue lobelia.
Lavender for the bees and because I hate
all fake lavender smells. Tomatoes to cut
and place on toasted bread for BLTs, with or without
the b and the l. I’d like, too, to plant
the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace,
and for it to bloom even when it’s hot,
and also lilies, so I have something left
to look at when the rabbits come.
They always come. They are
always hungry. And I think I am done
protecting one sweet thing from another.

Poems about Flowers and Gardens

Gardens are magical places that bring together the beauty of nature and the creativity of humans. These poems explore the joys of gardening and the wonder of the natural world.

1. Roadside Flowers

by Bliss Carman

We are the roadside flowers,
Straying from garden grounds, —
Lovers of idle hours,
Breakers of ordered bounds.
If only the earth will feed us,
If only the wind be kind,
We blossom for those who need us,
The stragglers left behind.
And lo, the Lord of the Garden,
He makes his sun to rise,
And his rain to fall with pardon
On our dusty paradise.
On us he has laid the duty, —
The task of the wandering breed,—
To better the world with beauty,
Wherever the way may lead.
Who shall inquire of the season,
Or question the wind where it blows?
We blossom and ask no reason.
The Lord of the Garden knows.

2. In the Garden

by Ernest Crosby

I spied beside the garden bed
A tiny lass of ours,
Who stopped and bent her sunny head
Above the red June flowers.
Pushing the leaves and thorns apart,
She singled out a rose,
And in its inmost crimson heart,
Enraptured, plunged her nose.
“O dear, dear rose, come, tell me true—
Come, tell me true,” said she,
“If I smell just as sweet to you
As you smell sweet to me!”

3. Love of God in a Flower

by Catherine Pulsifer

You can see the love of God
In every flower made
Design with such detail
Beauty in every blade.

You can see the love of God
In so many different flowers given
Beauty that surrounds us
Just stop and look at the garden.

You can see the love of God
In the rose and daisy too
Made to remind us all
That God’s love is very true.

4. The Sunken Garden

by Walter De La Mare

Speak not–whisper not;
Here bloweth thyme and bergamot;
Softly on the evening hour,
Secret herbs their spices shower,
Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh,
Lean-stalked, purple lavender;
Hides within her bosom, too,
All her sorrows, bitter rue.

Breathe not–trespass not;
Of this green and darkling spot,
Latticed from the moon’s beams,
Perchance a distant dreamer dreams;
Perchance upon its darkening air,
The unseen ghosts of children fare,
Faintly swinging, sway and sweep,
Like lovely sea-flowers in its deep;
While, unmoved, to watch and ward,
’Mid its gloom’d and daisied sward,
Stands with bowed and dewy head
That one little leaden Lad.

5. The Beauty of Snow

by Charles Budd

A thousand miles across the Dragon Mountains
The North Wind blows the whirling flakes of snow,
Until they gather on my terraced garden,
And drift before the gate in furrowed row.

Unlike the coloured plum and fragrant peach trees,
Whose buds stretch forth to greet the warm Spring days,
At dawn the snow lies in unsullied whiteness,
But flees to shelter from the sun’s bright rays.

The peach flower and the plum flower have a beauty,
Which flourish in the warmth of sun and shower;
The snow’s brief charm is purity and brightness,
It does not claim the sun tints of the flower.

6. The Lady Has a Garden

by Annette Wynne

The lady has a garden wide,
With great stone walls on either side,
And every flower that grows is there—
But—what does the lady care!
My garden is so very small,
It needs no fence; it needs no wall;
It’s but one tiny plant—that’s all!
And yet I tend it with a will—
My garden is my window sill!

7. My Primrose

by Margaret E. Sangster

My little primrose, gentle flower,
The darling of how many an hour,
When thou and I together gaze
In sheltered peace on stormful days.

Above thee broods a quiet hush
And yet the shadow of a blush,
That once had stirred the vestal air,
Is traced upon thy petals fair.

Nor bird, nor butterfly, nor bee.
Hath ever whispered love to thee,
Nor sunbeam ventured to caress,
Too bold, thy sweet unconsciousness.

Why, then, the dream of roseate glow,
So faint upon thy virgin snow?
Can’st thou divine how dear thou art.
White winter blossom, to my heart?

How in thy dainty grace I see
A pledge of lovely things to be,
And wait, when thou hast had thy day.
To greet the flowery fields of May?

The wildwood treasures, coy and sweet,
The bloom of gardens, and the fleet.
Large rapture of the orchard’s foam.
In that delightful time to come.

Will say but this, which thou dost say
So softly to my soul to-day:
“The Lord who keeps his promises
Is near thee ever, near to bless.

No spoken word his heart forgets,
The hour for leaf and bird he sets;
Who cares for fragile flower shall be
A strong defence to thine and thee.”

Smile on, my little primrose fair,
Shed faintest perfume on the air;
The winds may rave, the rain may fall,
But we are happy through it all.

8. March and April

by Annette Wynne

Stay in, stay in, O flowers, stay in,
Spring can’t begin, it can’t begin!
For wild rough March rides all about,
Don’t put your little noses out;
Small heads should keep safe underground,
Or March will catch you riding round.
Come out, come out, O flowers, come out!
Wild March is gone with rush and shout,
And April’s eager now to play,
Come out, for March rode far away,
And Spring is dancing all around!
Come up, dear seeds, above the ground!

9. Old-Fashioned Flowers

by Ethel Lynn Beers

Where are the sweet, old-fashioned posies,
Quaint in form and bright in hue,
Such as grandma gave her lovers
When she walked the garden through?

Lavender, with spikes of azure
Pointing to the dome on high.
Telling thus whence came its color,
Thanking with its breath the sky.

Four-o’clock, with heart upfolding,
When the loving sun had gone,
Streak and stain of cunning crimson,
Like the light of early dawn.

Regal lilies, many-petalled.
Like the curling drifts of snow.
With their crown of golden anthers
Poised on malachite below.

Morning-glories, tents of purple
Stretched on bars of creamy white,
Folding up their satin curtains
Inward through the dewy night.

Marigold, with coat of velvet
Streaked with gold and yellow lace,
With its love for summer sunlight
Written on its honest face.

Dainty pink, with feathered petals
Tinted, curled, and deeply frayed,
With its calyx heart, half broken,
On its leaves uplifted laid.

Can’t you see them in the garden,
Where dear grandma takes her nap?
See cherry blooms shake softly over
Silver hair and snowy cap?

Will the modern florist’s triumph
Look so fair, or smell so sweet,
As those dear old-fashioned posies
Blooming round our grandma’s feet?