Poetry Quotes: Nature

Poetry is the key to the hieroglyphics of Nature. ~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers, 1827

The secrets of Nature’s beauty, as well as of her philosophy, must be interpreted, and poets are God’s interpreters to make these secrets plain. ~J. M’Dermaid, “Burns as a Poet,” 1859

[N]ature-loving poets…. the children of the sunlight, the minstrels of the groves and the companions of the moors. ~W.H. Gresswell, “A Poet’s Corner,” 1889

The gaze of nature thus awakened dreams and pulls the poet after it. ~Walter Benjamin

To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie –
True Poems flee –
~Emily Dickinson, c.1879

In many cases these verses will seem to the reader like poetry torn up by the roots, with rain and dew and earth still clinging to them, giving a freshness and a fragrance not otherwise to be conveyed. ~Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Preface to Poems by Emily Dickinson Edited by Two of Her Friends, Mabel Loomis Todd and T.W. Higginson, ©1890

The poetry of the earth is never dead. ~John Keats

English poetry class taught by Dr. Robert Morse Lovett was like studying landscape design from a hill top. He taught the spacing, the graceful groups and the far views for the right sort of vistas. He was as sensitive to the microscopic details of moss in Christina Rossetti as he was to the big wild outdoors of Walt Whitman. ~Althea Warren (1886–1958)

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. ~Pablo Neruda, quoted in Wall Street Journal,, 14 November 1985

Look! over yonder
what a beautiful
field of wildpoems
~Terri Guillemets, “Reverie art,” 1992

I am no dealer in metaphysics, and will not attempt to define poetry by its rules. Poetry lies hid within the inner core of man’s thoughts and feelings and affections. It pervades the glorious universe in which the Almighty has placed him. It shines forth from the starry heavens, and from the deep blue vault of the summer sky. It lurks amid the green leaves of the groves, and gushes forth in the “wood notes wild” of their sweet songsters. It sparkles and plays in the flickering eddies of the stream… ~J. M’Dermaid, “Burns as a Poet,” 1859