83 Spring Poems to Celebrate the Season of New Beginnings

Spring poems have long been celebrated for capturing the essence of this season of rebirth.

From the eloquent words of renowned poets to the playful verses that bring joy to children, spring poetry encapsulates the beauty and promise of new beginnings.

Join us as we explore the spring poetry, delve into the famous verses that have graced the pages of anthologies, appreciate the beauty of spring poems, and find inspiration in the verses that rhyme.

Whether you’re an adult seeking profound reflections or a child embracing the simplicity of spring, there are poems about spring for everyone.

Let’s embark on this poetic journey together, celebrating the season of new beginnings.

Best Spring Poems

In the world of spring poetry, there are gems that shine brighter than the rest. These best poems about spring capture the very essence of the season. They resonate deeply, celebrating rebirth, hope, and the awakening of nature.

1. Early Spring

       by John Clare

The Spring is come, and Spring flowers coming too,
The crocus, patty kay, the rich hearts’ ease;
The polyanthus peeps with blebs of dew,
And daisy flowers; the buds swell on the trees;
While oer the odd flowers swim grandfather bees
In the old homestead rests the cottage cow;
The dogs sit on their haunches near the pail,
The least one to the stranger growls ‘bow wow,
‘ Then hurries to the door and cocks his tail,
To knaw the unfinished bone; the placid cow
Looks oer the gate; the thresher’s lumping flail
Is all the noise the spring encounters now.

2. Ode on Spring

       by Benjamin Hine

Welcome, return of grateful Spring,
Of thee my muse shall sweetly sing,
And tune her joyful lays;
Welcome, fair Phoebus, welcome here,
To visit this our northern sphere,
With thy all-cheering rays.
All Nature feels the enlivening power,
Of thy bright beams each shining hour,
And smiles with joy around;
The hills and dales all vocal are,
Nothing but harmony is there,
So sweet is every sound.
Hark, from the trees the feathered choir,
High mounted up aloft in air,
Tuning their sweetest notes;
Ere I awake they catch the theme,
Ere Sol doth dart a radiant beam,
Soft music fills their throats.
Delightful season of the year,
Thy mornings calm, thy evenings clear,
And pleasant all the day.
Gently by turns descending showers,
Water the ground, then blooming flowers
Adorn the earth most gay.
Charming the prospect to behold,
Each fragrant bud its leaves unfold,
Its beauties all display;
Through all the season thus they bloom,
And shed around a sweet perfume,
Then fade and die away.
How good is all, how well designed,
To please the sense, to instruct the mind,
And make us wiser grow,
May we not learn from every flower,
To obey and praise the mighty Power,
That freely does bestow?
Awake, my soul, awake and sing,
With rapturous notes tune every string,
To sound the Author’s praise;
All vocal beings join my song,
Man, beast, and bird, a numerous throng,
And shouts of triumph raise.
Sing the eternal Father’s name,
Who spread abroad the ethereal frame,
And bade the planets roll;
Who taught the seasons how to change,
Who did the stars in order range,
And still preserves the whole.

3. Home Pictures in May

       by John Clare

The sunshine bathes in clouds of many hues
And morning’s feet are gemmed with early dews,
Warm daffodils about the garden beds
Peep through their pale slim leaves their golden heads,
Sweet earthly nuns of Spring; the gosling broods
In coats of sunny green about the road
Waddle in extasy; and in rich moods
The old hen leads her flickering chicks abroad,
Oft scuttling ‘neath her wings to see the kite
Hang wavering o’er them in the spring’s blue light.
The sparrows round their new nests chirp with glee
And sweet the robin Spring’s young luxury shares
Tootling its song in feathery gooseberry tree
While watching worms the gardener’s spade unbares.

4. Winter and Spring

       by Hannah Flagg Gould

“Adieu!” Father Winter sadly said
To the world, when about withdrawing,
With his old white wig half off his head,
And his icicle fingers thawing.
“Adieu! I am going to the rocks and caves,
And must leave all here behind me;
Or, perhaps I shall sink in the Northern waves,
So deep that none can find me.”
“Good luck! good luck, to your hoary locks!”
Said the gay young Spring, advancing;
“You may take your rest mid the caves and rocks,
While I o’er the earth am dancing.
“But there is not a spot where your foot has trod,
You hard, and clumsy old fellow,
Not a hill, nor a field, nor a single sod,
But I must make haste to mellow.
“And then I shall carpet them o’er with grass,
Which will look so bright and cheering,
That none will regret that they let you pass
Far out of sight and of hearing.
“The fountains that you locked up so tight,
When I shall give them a sunning,
Will sparkle and play with my warmth and light,
And the streams will set to running.
“I’ll speak in the earth to the palsied root,
That under your reign was sleeping;
I’ll teach it the way in the dark to shoot,
And draw out the vine to creeping.
“The boughs that you cased so close in ice
It was chilling e’en to behold them,
I’ll deck all over with buds so nice,
My breath can alone unfold them.
“And when all the trees are with blossoms dressed,
The bird with her song so merry
Will come to the branches to build her nest,
With a view to the future cherry.
“The earth will show by her loveliness,
The wonders I am doing,
While the skies look down, with a smile, to bless
The way that I’m pursuing!”
Said Winter, “Then I would have you learn
By me, my gay new-comer,
To push off too, when it comes your turn
And yield your place to Summer!”

5. Spring’s Messengers

       by John Clare

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.

6. Resurrection

       by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

Daffodil, lily, and crocus,
They stir, they break from the sod,
They are glad of the sun, and they open
Their golden hearts to God.
They, and the wilding families,—
Windflower, violet, may,—
They rise from the long, long dark
To the ecstasy of day.
We, scattering troops and kindreds,
From out of the stars wind-blown
To this wayside corner of space,
This world that we call our own,—
We, of the hedgerows of Time,
We, too, shall divide the sod,
Emerge to the light, and blossom,
With our hearts held up to God.

7. Spring in New-England

       by Carlos Wilcox

Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germes, and buds
Start at the touch of vivifying beams.
Moved by their secret force, the vital lymph
Diffusive runs, and spreads o’er wood and field
A flood of verdure. Clothed, in one short week,
Is naked Nature in her full attire.
On the first morn, light as an open plain
Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured
Through the bare tops, on yellow leaves below,
With strong reflection: on the last, ’tis dark
With full-grown foliage, shading all within.
In one short week the orchard buds and blooms;
And now, when steep’d in dew or gentle showers,
It yields the purest sweetness to the breeze,
Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes.
E’en from the juicy leaves of sudden growth,
And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air,
Filled with a watery glimmering, receives
A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays.
Each day are heard, and almost every hour,
New notes to swell the music of the groves.
And soon the latest of the feather’d train
At evening twilight come; the lonely snipe,
O’er marshy fields, high in the dusky air,
Invisible, but with faint, tremulous tones,
Hovering or playing o’er the listener’s head;
And, in mid-air, the sportive night-hawk, seen
Flying a while at random, uttering oft
A cheerful cry, attended with a shake
Of level pinions, dark, but when upturned
Against the brightness of the western sky,
One white plume showing in the midst of each,
Then far down diving with loud hollow sound;
And, deep at first within the distant wood,
The whip-poor-will, her name her only song.
She, soon as children from the noisy sport
Of hooping, laughing, talking with all tones,
To hear the echoes of the empty barn,
Are by her voice diverted and held mute,
Comes to the margin of the nearest grove;
And when the twilight, deepened into night,
Calls them within, close to the house she comes,
And on its dark side, haply on the step
Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen,
Breaks into strains articulate and clear,
The closing sometimes quickened as in sport.
Now, animate throughout, from morn to eve
All harmony, activity, and joy,
Is lovely Nature, as in her bless’d prime.
The robin to the garden or green yard,
Close to the door, repairs to build again
Within her wonted tree; and at her work
Seems doubly busy for her past delay.
Along the surface of the winding stream,
Pursuing every turn, gay swallows skim,
Or round the borders of the spacious lawn
Fly in repeated circles, rising o’er
Hillock and fence with motion serpentine,
Easy, and light. One snatches from the ground
A downy feather, and then upward springs,
Followed by others, but oft drops it soon,
In playful mood, or from too slight a hold,
When all at once dart at the falling prize.
The flippant blackbird, with light yellow crown,
Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters thick
Till her breath fail, when, breaking off, she drops
On the next tree, and on its highest limb
Or some tall flag, and gently rocking, sits,
Her strain repeating. With sonorous notes
Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet,
All chanted in the fulness of delight,
The forest rings: where, far around enclosed
With bushy sides, and covered high above
With foliage thick, supported by bare trunks,
Like pillars rising to support a roof,
It seems a temple vast, the space within
Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody.
Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct,
The merry mocking-bird together links
In one continued song their different notes,
Adding new life and sweetness to them all.
Hid under shrubs, the squirrel that in fields
Frequents the stony wall and briery fence,
Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach
Unheard till just upon him, when, with cries
Sudden and sharp, he darts to his retreat
Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree;
But oft a moment after reappears,
First peeping out, then starting forth at once
With a courageous air, yet in his pranks
Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far
Till left unheeded. In rank pastures graze,
Singly and mutely, the contented herd;
And on the upland rough the peaceful sheep;
Regardless of the frolic lambs, that, close
Beside them, and before their faces prone,
With many an antic leap and butting feint,
Try to provoke them to unite in sport
Or grant a look, till tired of vain attempts;
When, gathering in one company apart,
All vigour and delight, away they run,
Straight to the utmost corner of the field,
The fence beside; then, wheeling, disappear
In some small sandy pit, then rise to view;
Or crowd together up the heap of earth
Around some upturned root of fallen tree,
And on its top a trembling moment stand,
Then to the distant flock at once return.
Exhilarated by the general joy,
And the fair prospect of a fruitful year,
The peasant, with light heart and nimble step,
His work pursues, as it were pastime sweet.
With many a cheering word, his willing team,
For labour fresh, he hastens to the field
Ere morning lose its coolness; but at eve,
When loosened from the plough and homeward turn’d,
He follows slow and silent, stopping oft
To mark the daily growth of tender grain
And meadows of deep verdure, or to view
His scatter’d flock and herd, of their own will
Assembling for the night by various paths,
The old now freely sporting with the young,
Or labouring with uncouth attempts at sport.

8. The First Spring Day

       by Christina Rossetti

I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing!
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the spring-tide of this year
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;
If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me!
Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring!
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.

9. Transformation

       by Madison Cawein

IT is the time when, by the forest falls,
The touch-me-nots hang fairy folly-caps;
When ferns and flowers fill the lichened laps
Of rocks with colour, rich as orient shawls:
And in my heart I hear a voice that calls
Me woodward, where the hamadryad wraps
Her limbs in bark, and, bubbling in the saps,
Sings the sweet Greek of Pan’s old madrigals:
There is a gleam that lures me up the stream—
A Naiad swimming with wet limbs of light?
Perfume that leads me on from dream to dream—
An Oread’s footprints fragrant with her flight?
And, lo! meseems I am a Faun again,
Part of the myths that I pursue in vain.

10. A Welcome to Spring

       by Mary Snell

Cold winter is gone with his ice and his snow,
And hushed are the rude winds that fiercely did blow,
Fair spring has returned with her soft frequent gales,
That steal o’er the mountains and sigh through the vales.

How gladly we hail the return of the spring,
Fair prospects, gay sunshine, her presence doth bring;
The fields are arrayed in their verdure once more,
Good bye to cold winter and rude tempests roar.

The streamlets go singing and murmuring on,
They seem to rejoice that the winter is gone;
And nature has spread her soft carpet again
Of emerald green over valley and plain.

Away through the fields to the hill tops repair,
In the bright rosy morning, and breathe the fresh air,
And join with the birds in full chorus to greet
The beautiful spring time so balmy and sweet.

Fresh beauty is scattered profusely around,
All nature springs into new life at a bound;
The lambs skip and sport‌ in their frolicsome glee,
The birds and the beasts seem as happy as we.

The earth seems to smile and the sky looks so blue,
We feel as if life was beginning anew;
The aged and young all rejoice to behold
The beautiful spring its rare treasures unfold.

A voice softly whispers be grateful to God,
Who pours out his blessings so freely abroad;
Then gratitude flows from our hearts as we sing,
And hail with delight the bright beautiful spring.

Famous Spring Poems

Some verses are etched into the annals of literary history, celebrated for their timeless portrayal of spring’s beauty. Famous poems about spring have a unique ability to evoke emotions and paint vivid pictures of the season.

1. Kindly Spring

       by John Newton

Kindly spring again is here,
Trees and fields in bloom appear;
Hark! the birds with artless lays
Warble their creator’s praise.
Where in winter all was snow,
Now the flowers in clusters grow;
And the corn, in green array,
Promises a harvest-day.
Lord, afford a spring to me,
Let me feel like what I see;
Speak, and by Thy gracious voice,
Make my drooping soul rejoice.
On Thy garden deign to smile,
Raise the plants, enrich the soil;
Soon Thy presence will restore
Life to what seemed dead before.

2. Spring Song

       by Anna Hempstead Branch

Now I am made strange again
With the old-time wildness.
Spring, that loves the hearts of men,
Save me by thy mildness.
Nay, thou art not mild!
Thou art not any child.
Untamed art thou and swift to run,
Exquisite — savage as the sun.
A golden beast, in jungles of warm air
I make my natural lair.
Last night, in forests of the wind
I kept my watch and ranged.
With haughty eyes I viewed my kind,
Magnificent, estranged.
We are not gentle in our mood
When the great Spring takes our blood,
But passionate and fretful,
And of mankind forgetful.
‘T is then we must be free!
The daughter of the sky and wood,
Let no one lay a hand on me.
Nay, touch me not in Spring!
Hardly look my way!
A glance is such a heavy thing, —
I need no friends to-day!
In Summer maybe I’ll grow still
And bide because I love.
There’s no will now save my will,
My soul is fain to rove.
Always with the Spring
Comes the thought of journeying,
Mixed with the subtlest languor
That would advise me to the ground
Thereon to lie as soft as sound
That in its bosom stirs.
And so I do, — until at length
Grown primitive with anger
That has no source save youth and joy and strength,
I run and shout ‘twixt earth and sky,
And Ring them from me and defy.
Being in need of prey,
Made boastful with the Spring one day,
To the granite rock that stood my way,
“Bubble, bubble, blue and gray,”
Quoth I;
“If I should touch you with my hand,
How you would quiver from the land!
I could make earth, sky, and seas
Tremble from me like the breeze.”
Then everything grew soft and fair
Breathed Out of visible air;
And then, because I loved it so,
I let the whole earth shine and grow

3. Sudden Shower

       by John Clare

Black grows the southern sky, betokening rain,
And humming hive-bees homeward hurry bye:
They feel the change; so let us shun the grain,
And take the broad road while our feet are dry.
Ay, there some dropples moistened on my face,
And pattered on my hat—tis coming nigh!
Let’s look about, and find a sheltering place.
The little things around, like you and I,
Are hurrying through the grass to shun the shower.
Here stoops an ash-tree—hark! the wind gets high,
But never mind; this ivy, for an hour,
Rain as it may, will keep us dryly here:
That little wren knows well his sheltering bower,
Nor leaves his dry house though we come so near.

4. Gentle Spring

       by Ellen P. Allerton

These are signs of gentle spring:
Flocks of wild geese on the wing,
Flying in a broken string;
Brooks that tumble, roar and rush,
Sinking drifts, and piles of slush,
And a universal mush.
Woman with a draggled dress,
Puddles that seem bottomless,
Roads all ditto—such a mess!
Horses flounder, loaded down;
Swearing driver—been to town—
Curses, plunges—overthrown!
Fancy sleighs for sale at cost,
Balmy breezes, nipping frost,
Wild march mornings, tempest-tossed.
Robins, bluebirds, sleet and snow,
Icy winds, and sunny glow—
What comes next you never know.
Sounds of coughs and choking wheezes,
And of loud, spasmodic sneezes,
Mingle with tlie straying breezes.
Handkerchiefs are bought and sold
By the dozen, I am told.
Question—”Have you had your cold?”
Come, ye singers, rise and sing!
Poets, tune your every string
For an ode to gentle spring.

5. Spring Fever

       by Charles A. Heath

When a feller feels a longing
For the medder in his breast.
When the robins north are thronging,
Where they haste to build their nest.
When the frogs peep in the puddle
Where I love to hear them sing,
Then my brain is in a muddle,
For I know it’s really spring.
When the double windows smother
Us until we want more air;
When a protest comes and mother
Can’t endure them longer there;
When we ope the cellar shutters,
Kitchen doors are on the swing,
Clean the cisterns, fix the gutters―
Then I know its truly spring.
When the wild ducks and geese are going
Northward, “dragging” as they fly;
When the streams are overflowing,
And a rainbow gilds the sky;
When the plowman turns the stubble
Where the bluebirds sweetly sing,
When comes carpet-beating trouble,
Then I’m confident it’s spring.
When the jack-torch men are spearing
Silver suckers in the brook,
And the angleworms appearing.
Seem quite anxious for my hook;
When the mellow sunlights beckon
Till the mill wheel starts to sing,
Then’s the time the fish, I reckon,
‘Spect to see me―Come! It’s spring!

6. The Vernal Age

       by Philip Freneau

Where the pheasant roosts at night,
Lonely, drowsy, out of sight,
Where the evening breezes sigh
Solitary, there stray I.
Close along the shaded stream,
Source of many a youthful dream,
Where branchy cedars dim the day
There I muse, and there I stray.
Yet, what can please amid this bower,
That charmed the eye for many an hour!
The budding leaf is lost to me,
And dead the bloom on every tree.
The winding stream, that glides along,
The lark, that tunes her early song,
The mountain’s brow, the sloping vale,
The murmuring of the western gale,
Have lost their charms!—the blooms are gone!
Trees put a darker aspect on,
The stream disgusts that wanders by,
And every zephyr brings a sigh.
Great guardian of our feeble kind!—
Restoring Nature, lend thine aid!
And o’er the features of the mind
Renew those colors, that must fade,
When vernal suns forbear to roll,
And endless winter chills the soul.

7. Spring in Town

       by William Cullen Bryant

The country ever has a lagging Spring,
Waiting for May to call its violets forth,
And June its roses—showers and sunshine bring,
Slowly, the deepening verdure o’er the earth;
To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
And one by one the singing-birds come back.
Within the city’s bounds the time of flowers
Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day,
Such as full often, for a few bright hours,
Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May,
Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom—
And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom.
For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then
Gorgeous as are a rivulet’s banks in June,
That overhung with blossoms, through its glen,
Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon,
And they who search the untrodden wood for flowers
Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours.
For here are eyes that shame the violet,
Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies,
And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set,
The anemonies by forest fountains rise;
And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak
Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek.
And thick about those lovely temples lie
Locks that the lucky Vignardonne has curled,
Thrice happy man! whose trade it is to buy,
And bake, and braid those love-knots of the world;
Who curls of every glossy colour keepest,
And sellest, it is said, the blackest cheapest.
And well thou may’st—for Italy’s brown maids
Send the dark locks with which their brows are dressed,
And Gascon lasses, from their jetty braids,
Crop half, to buy a riband for the rest;
But the fresh Norman girls their tresses spare,
And the Dutch damsel keeps her flaxen hair.
Then, henceforth, let no maid nor matron grieve,
To see her locks of an unlovely hue,
Frouzy or thin, for liberal art shall give
Such piles of curls as nature never knew.
Eve, with her veil of tresses, at the sight
Had blushed, outdone, and owned herself a fright.
Soft voices and light laughter wake the street,
Like notes of woodbirds, and where’er the eye
Threads the long way, plumes wave, and twinkling feet
Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by.
The ostrich, hurrying o’er the desert space,
Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleeter pace.
No swimming Juno gait, of languor born,
Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace,
Light as Camilla’s o’er the unbent corn,
A step that speaks the spirit of the place,
Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away
To Sing Sing and the shores of Tappan bay.
Ye that dash by in chariots! who will care
For steeds or footmen now? ye cannot show
Fair face, and dazzling dress, and graceful air,
And last edition of the shape! Ah no,
These sights are for the earth and open sky,
And your loud wheels unheeded rattle by.

8. Spring

       by Barbara R Johnson

Wondrously February withdraws to
warm March with a golden glow
from Spring’s shining sun sent
down to lead the way
for April’s soothing showers
soon to bring fragrant flowers
and dance on May’s blossoming bounty.

9. Spring Has Come

       by Oliver Wendell Holmes

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 cloud their hoary chief.

See the proud tulip’s flaunting cup,
That flames in glory for an hour, –
Behold it withering, – then look up, –
How meek the forest monarch’s flower!

When wake the violets. Winter dies;
When sprout the elm-buds. Spring is near;
When lilacs blossom, Summer cries
“Bud, little roses! Spring is here!”

The windows blush with fresh bouquets,
Cut with the May-dew on their lips;
The radish all its bloom displays,
Pink as Aurora’s finger-tips.

Nor less the flood of light that showers
On beauty’s changed corolla-shades, –
The walks are gay as bridal bowers
With rows of many petalled maids.

Beautiful Spring Poems

Spring’s beauty is a muse for poets, inspiring verses that mirror its splendor. These beautiful poems about spring are a testament to the artistry of words. They paint vivid landscapes of blooming flowers, gentle breezes, and the rebirth of nature. Immerse yourself in their elegance.

1. Spring Tidings

       by Ruby Archer

A world of snow, and winter yet,
The weather-man decrees.
He listens to the bragging wind,
I hearken roots of trees.
It thawed of late, and roots lay out
Along the way I take;
I heard them deeply sigh, as does
A dreamer soon to wake.
And lo—upon my windowsill
Opens a yellow daffodil.
Gold-armored herald of the spring,
Come privately to tell
That snow is but the calyx warm,
The bud begins to swell.
So weather-man, go prophesy,
And credulous, go hear—
My herald gives your gloom the lie,
I know that Spring is near!
For lo—upon my windowsill
Opens a yellow daffodil.

2. Spring’s Saraband

       by Bliss Carman

Over the hills of April
With soft winds hand in hand,
Impassionate and dreamy-eyed,
Spring leads her saraband.
Her garments float and gather
And swirl along the plain,
Her headgear is the golden sun,
Her cloak the silver rain.
With color and with music,
With perfumes and with pomp,
By meadowland and upland,
Through pasture, wood, and swamp,
With promise and enchantment
Leading her mystic mime,
She comes to lure the world anew
With joy as old as time.
Quick lifts the marshy chorus
To transport, trill on trill;
There’s not a rod of stony ground
Unanswering on the hill.
The brooks and little rivers
Dance down their wild ravines,
And children in the city squares
Keep time, to tambourines.
The bluebird in the orchard
Is lyrical for her,
The blackbird with his meadow pipe
Sets all the wood astir,
The hooded white spring-beauties
Are curtsying in the breeze,
The blue hepaticas are out
Under the chestnut trees.
The maple buds make glamor,
Viburnum waves its bloom,
The daffodils and tulips
Are risen from the tomb.
The lances of Narcissus
Have pierced the wintry mold;
The commonplace seems paradise
Through veils of greening gold.
O heart, hear thou the summons,
Put every grief away,
When all the motley masques of earth
Are glad upon a day.
Alack, that any mortal
Should less than gladness bring
Into the choral joy that sounds
The saraband of spring!

3. Spring Gladness

       by John Burroughs

Now clap your hands together,
For this is April weather,
And love again is born;
The west wind is caressing,
The turf your feet are pressing
Is thrilling to the morn.
To see the grass a-greening,
To find each day new meaning
In sky and tree and ground;
To see the waters glisten,
To linger long, and listen
To every wakening sound!
To feel your nerves a-tingle
By grackle’s strident jingle
Or starling’s brooky call,
Or phcebe’s salutation,
Or sparrow’s proclamation
Atop the garden wall!
The maple trees are thrilling,
Their eager juices spilling
In many a sugar-camp.
I see the buckets gleaming,
I see the smoke and steaming,
I smell the fragrant damp.
The mourning-dove is cooing
The husky crow is wooing,
I hear his raucous vows;
The robin’s breast is glowing,
Warm hues of earth are showing
Behind the early plows.
I love each April token
And every word that’s spoken
In field or grove or vale,—
The hyla’s twilight chorus,
The clanging geese that o’er us
Keep well the northern trail.
Oh, soon with heaping measures
The spring will bring her treasures
To gladden every breast;
The sky with warmth a-beaming,
The earth with love a-teeming —
In life itself new zest!

4. Spring Song

       by Ruby Archer

The earth a balm is breathing
Upon the April air,
The breezes hints unsheathing
Of budding life somewhere,
Of grass and mosses rare,
Of leaves and blossoms fair.
I know a lovely wildwood
Where blooms of spring abound.
How often in my childhood
I’ve plucked them from the ground,
And heard the joyful sound
Of mating birds around.
How would you like to wander
In forest way with me?
Where Nature’s hand doth squander
Her blessings rich and free.
There revel bird and bee.
Come, join their revelry!

5. A Spring Song

       by Mathilde Blind

Dark sod pierced by flames of flowers,
Dead wood freshly quickening,
Bright skies dusked with sudden showers,
Lit by rainbows on the wing.
Cuckoo calls and young lambs’ bleating
Nimble airs which coyly bring
Little gusts of tender greeting
From shy nooks where violets cling.
Half-fledged buds and birds and vernal
Fields of grass dew-glistening;
Evanescent life’s eternal
Resurrection, bridal Spring!

6. Spring Again

       by Celia Thaxter

I stood on the height in the stillness
And the planet’s outline scanned,
And half was drawn with the line of sea
And half with the far blue land.
With wings that caught the sunshine
In the crystal deeps of the sky,
Like shapes of dreams, the gleaming gulls
Went slowly floating by.
Below me the boats in the harbor
Lay still, with their white sails furled;
Sighing away into silence,
The breeze died off the world.
On the weather-worn, ancient ledges
Peaceful the calm light slept;
And the chilly shadows, lengthening,
Slow to the eastward crept.
The snow still lay in the hollows,
And where the salt waves met
The iron rock, all ghastly white
The thick ice glimmered yet.
But the smile of the sun was kinder,
The touch of the air was sweet;
The pulse of the cruel ocean seemed
Like a human heart to beat.
Frost-locked, storm-beaten, and lonely,
In the midst of the wintry main,
Our bleak rock yet the tidings heard:
“There shall be spring again!”
Worth all the waiting and watching,
The woe that the winter wrought,
Was the passion of gratitude that shook
My soul at the blissful thought!
Soft rain and flowers and sunshine,
Sweet winds and brooding skies,
Quick-flitting birds to fill the air
With clear delicious cries;
And the warm sea’s mellow murmur
Resounding day and night;
A thousand shapes and tints and tones
Of manifold delight,
Nearer and ever nearer
Drawing with every day!
But a little longer to wait and watch
‘Neath skies so cold and gray;
And hushed is the roar of the bitter north
Before the might of the spring,
And up the frozen slope of the world
Climbs summer, triumphing.

7. Spring Quiet

       by Christina Rossetti

Gone were but the Winter,
Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
Where the birds sing;
Where in the white-thorn
Singeth a thrush,
And a robin sings
In the holly-bush.
Full of fresh scents
Are the budding boughs,
Arching high over
A cool green house:
Full of sweet scents,
And whispering air
Which sayeth softly:
“We spread no snare;
“Here dwell in safety,
Here dwell alone,
With a clear stream
And a mossy stone.
“Here the sun shineth
Most shadily;
Here is heard an echo
Of the far sea,
Though far off it be.”

8. A Child of Spring

       by Ellen Robena Field

I know a little maiden,
She is very fair and sweet,
As she trips among the grasses
That kiss her dainty feet;
Her arms are full of flowers,
The snow-drops, pure and white,
Timid blue-eyed violets,
And daffodillies bright.

She loves dear Mother Nature,
And wanders by her side;
She beckons to the birdlings
That flock from far and wide.
She wakes the baby brooklets,
Soft breezes hear her call;
She tells the little children
The sweetest tales of all.

Her brow is sometimes clouded,
And she sighs with gentle grace,
Till the sunbeams, daring lovers,
Kiss the teardrops from her face.
Well we know this dainty maiden,
For April is her name;
And we welcome her with gladness,
As the springtime comes again.

9. Beautiful Spring

       by Daniel S. Warner

Ah, gentle spring, thy balmy breeze,
New chanting mid the budding trees,
A glorious resurrection sings!
And on thy soft, ethereal wings
Sweet nectar from ten thousand flowers,
That bloom in nature’s happy bowers,
Thou dost as holy incense bring
To Him who sheds the beams of spring.

Far in the South thy bloom appeared,
And all our journey homeward cheered;
A thousand miles in sweet embrace,
We northward held an even race;
Or if by starts we did outrun
Thy even tenor from the sun,
Erelong we blessed thy coming tread
And quaffed the odors thou didst spread.

O brightest, sweetest of the year!
When all is vocal with thy cheer,
Thy lily cups and roses red
With us some tear-drops also shed.
The cherry-trees, in shrouds of white,
Bring back to mind a mournful sight –
A coffined brother ‘neath the bloom,
Just ere they bore him to the tomb.

Ah, yes, thou sweet, beguiling spring,
Of thee my inmost heart would sing.
“The time of love,” all bards agree
To sing- in merry notes to thee.
Yea, such thou art, and happy they
“Who walk in love’s delightful day,
Along the path thy flakes have strewn,
And know indeed her constant boon.

But what of him who walks alone,
With past love fled and turned to stone?
Shall not the springtide music’s roll
Mock withered joys and sting the soul?
Not in the heart embalmed in love
Transported from the worlds above,
Nor seasons, no, nor else can bring
Heart-aches where only God is King;
That soul an endless spring enjoys
Where life the will of God employs.
He mid the fields of bliss may tread,
And feast on joys that long have fled,
By sacred memories’ glowing trace
More than the heart untouched by grace,
Can drink from full fruition’s stream,
Or paint in fancy’s wildest dream.

O God! thou, art the life of spring,
The Source of all the seasons bring,
The soul of all the joys we know,
The Fountain whence our pleasures flow.
While nature wakes from winter’s sleep,
And gentle clouds effusive weep,
We join creation’s grateful lays,
And celebrate our Maker’s praise.

Short Spring Poems

Sometimes, the most profound emotions are expressed in the briefest of verses. Short poems about spring capture the essence of the season in succinct and poignant ways.

1. Spring

       by H. G. Adams

A bursting into greenness;
A waking as from sleep;
A twitter and a warble
That make the pulses leap:
A watching, as in childhood,
For the flowers that, one by one,
Open their golden petals
To woo the fitful sun.
A gust, a flash, a gurgle,
A wish to shout and sing,
As, filled with hope and gladness,
We hail the vernal Spring.

2. The Miracle

       by Annie Stone

I had waited all the winter for a sign
Something wondrous, a miracle divine;
Today it came, a very lovely thing,
A crocus in the close a-blossoming.
Blue wings a-gleam, a song bird’s sweetest strain,
In gladness for spring’s miracle again.

3. A little Madness in the Spring

       by Emily Dickinson

A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown —
Who ponders this tremendous scene —
This whole Experiment of Green —
As if it were his own!

4. Spring Came Walking

       by Annette Wynne

Spring came walking through the grass;
I heard her happy footsteps pass;
I went outside and took her hand,
And followed her across the land.
And everywhere we took our way,
The flowers called a holiday.

5. Awakening

       by Margaret E. Sangster

Never yet was a springtime,
Late though lingered the snow,
That the sap stirred not at the whisper
Of the south wind, sweet and low;
Never yet was a springtime
When the buds forgot to blow.
Ever the wings of the summer
Are folded under the mold;
Life that has known no dying
Is Love’s to have and to hold,
Till sudden, the burgeoning Easter!
The song! the green and the gold!

6. An Answer

       by Helen Emma Maring

I told him, “See the beauty
Coming from the sod!”
He said, “It comes from farther—
Beauty comes from God.”

7. Springtide

       by Georgia Douglas Johnson

All deep there stirs the throb of Spring,
Its vital pulse I’m answering,
Swift to its dominant I merge,
One with its undulating surge;
My heart awakes to virile tone
And breaks—unanswered, and alone.

8. One, Two, Winter’s Through

       by Annette Wynne

One, two, winter’s through;
Three, four, spring’s at the door,
Five, six, April’s tricks,
Seven, eight, bird and mate,
Nine, ten, the world begins again!

9. In Spring

       by Ruby Archer

Mild is the night; the stars’
Pale glamour wraps the dreaming earth;
Nothing the quiet mars,
Telling or human grief or mirth.
Faintly the wind avows
April is breathing on the deep.
Hark—are the crooning boughs
Rocking their baby buds to sleep?

10. A Time of Hope

       by Catherine Pulsifer

As winter’s chill departs
The warmth of spring arrives
Seeing daffodils and crocus blooms
Allows hope and rebirth to thrive.

Birds soar in the sky so blue
Nature flings open its door
Our hearts are filled with joy and delight
At this time of hope evermore!

Inspirational Spring Poems

Spring brings not only physical renewal but also spiritual rejuvenation. Inspirational poems about spring convey the profound sense of hope and optimism that the season embodies. They inspire us to embrace new beginnings, growth, and the endless possibilities that lie ahead.

1. Spring

       by Truman Summerfield Perry

Through and through grim Winter’s mail of azure
Smite the flaming arrows of the Sun;
All his flushing arms and gleaming treasure
Fall a spoil to hot Hyperion.
Come, O Spring, for bruit of storm is dying,
And the sea is growing bright and calm;
O’er its glancing waves with footsteps flying
Hither hasten from thy isles of balm.
Smile, and skies will lose their wintry sadness;
Breathe, and all the swelling buds will break;
Laugh, and all the streams will leap for gladness;
Come and kiss the dreaming earth awake.
All the birds will pour to greet thy coming
Blithest carol, gladdest roundelay;
And the honey-bee with drowsy humming
Soothe thine ear when thou art tired of play.
Field and wood will gaily don to greet thee
Kirtle fair, and robe of golden sheen,
All the flowers will bloom and blush to meet thee,
Crowning thee with beauty like a queen.
Come, as when of old thy coming thrilled us,
Bring the days of gladness back to men;
Many winters now, alas, have chilled us—
Let us taste the wine of youth again.
Bring us with thy sweet and gentle presence
Hope and token of that land of light,
Land of perfect peace and endless pleasance,
Where the flowers bloom, but never blight.

2. A Foretaste of Spring

       by George Herbert Clarke

Sweet and golden afternoon
Of the infant summer,
Joyous one!
Merry trills of laughter soon
Peep and tremble and embrace,
Flee and turn again to race
Through the sun;
Morning, slow old nurse, is lost,
Birds and souls and flowers are tost
In the sunlit pentecost —
Winter’s done!
Birds are chirping melodies
Made of clear notes vanishing
In the sky!
Yonder hum the yellow bees,
Hither sway the tender branches,
Mad young winds in avalanches
Scurry by;
All the flowers bloom a-blushing
Rapture through the soul is rushing,
Suddenly there comes a hushing —
Night is nigh!

3. Field in Spring

       by Susan Stewart

Your eye moving
left to right across
the plowed lines
looking to touch down
on the first
shoots coming up
like a frieze
from the dark where
pale roots
and wood-lice gorge
on mold.
Red haze atop
the far trees.
A two dot, then
a ten dot
ladybug. Within
the wind, a per-
pendicular breeze.
Hold a mirror,
to the rain. Now
the blurred repetition
of ruled lines, the faint
green, quickening,
the doubled tears.
Wake up.
The wind is not for seeing,
neither is the first
song, soon half-
way gone,
and the figures,
the figures are not waiting.
To see what is
in motion you must move.

4. Spring

       by Nathaniel P. Willis

The Spring is here, the delicate-footed May,
With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers
And with it comes a thirst to be away,
Wasting in wood-paths its voluptuous hours:
A feeling that is like a sense of wings,
Restless to soar above these perishing things.
We pass out from the city’s feverish hum,
To find refreshment in the silent woods;
And Nature, that is beautiful and dumb,
Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods:
Yet even there a restless thought will steal,
To teach the indolent heart it still must feel.
Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon,
The waters tripping with their silver feet,
The turning to the light leaves in June,
And the light whisper as their edges meet:
Strange, that they fill not, with their tranquil tone,
The spirit, walking in their midst alone.
There’s no contentment in a world like this,
Save in forgetting the immortal dream;
We may not gaze upon the stars of bliss,
That through the cloud-rifts radiantly stream;
Bird-like, the prisoned soul will lift its eye,
And pine till it is hooded from the sky.

5. Spring Work

       by Mary B. C. Slade

Plough the land, plough the land;
Hold the handles with each hand;
Furrows keep straight and deep,
Firm and steady stand.
Quickly turn around we may,
Ploughing back the other way;
Plough the land, plough the land—
Farmers understand.
Sow the seed, sow the seed,
Little birds will come and feed;
Never mind, you will find
Much they leave behind.
Soon the tender blades will spring,
Just as green as anything;
Sow the seed, sow the seed,
Pleasant work indeed.
Now we rest, now we rest,
After labor that is best;
First you know, green will show
Where the grain we sow.
Soon you’ll see a welcome sight,
Field so pretty, green, and bright.
Spring-time through, glad are you
Farmer’s work to do?

6. A Light Exists in Spring

       by Emily Dickinson

A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.

7. I Have This Way of Being

       by Jamaal May

I have this, and this isn’t a mouth
full of the names of odd flowers

I’ve grown in secret.
I know none of these by name

but have this garden now,
and pastel somethings bloom

near the others and others.
I have this trowel, these overalls,

this ridiculous hat now.
This isn’t a lung full of air.

Not a fist full of weeds that rise
yellow then white then windswept.

This is little more than a way
to kneel and fill gloves with sweat,

so that the trowel in my hand
will have something to push against,

rather, something to push
against that it knows will bend

and give and return as sprout
and petal and sepal and bloom.

8. A Blessing

       by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

Spring Poems That Rhyme

The rhythmic cadence of rhyming verses adds a delightful musicality to spring poems. These poems about spring with rhyme are a celebration of not only the season’s beauty but also the poetic craftsmanship that goes into crafting verses that resonate with our hearts.

1. The Voice of Spring

       by Felicia Hemans

I come, I come! ye have called me long;
I come o’er the mountains, with light and song.
Ye may trace my step o’er the waking earth
By the winds which tell of the violet’s birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut-flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers,
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains;
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb!

I have looked o’er the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth;
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,
And the reindeer bounds o’er the pastures free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,
And the moss looks bright, where my step has been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky,
From the night-bird’s lay through the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan’s wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray o’er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.

2. 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!

3. Spring and Summer

       by Kate Slaughter McKinney

I heard a footstep on the hill,
The little brook began to trill,
I looked—a sweet and childlike face,
Reflected like a blooming vase,
Was smiling from the water clear,
With buttercups behind her ear.
A flock of swallows hove in sight,
On came the summer clad in white,
With sunshine falling from her hair
Upon her shoulders white and bare,
And pressing through the tangled grass,
A daisy rose to watch her pass.

4. On Spring

       by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott

Return sweet spring, and let thy jays
Descend to cheer the ground,
While each glad field her tribute pays,
Bedeck’d with flowers around.
While budding trees, adorn’d with green,
Unfold their fragrant leaves;
And cheerful songsters there are seen
Their webbed nests to weave.
Now let the joyful farmer strew
His seed on broken soil,
While with delight he hopes to view
The harvest crown his toil.
And now may gentle showers descend,
To cheer the smiling meads,
While their soft winds the zephyrs lend
To weave the tender reeds.
Now gentle streams refresh the vales,
Exhaling odors sweet,
Meandering down the hills and dales,
And makes the scene complete.

5. The Spring Race

       by Annette Wynne

Said the wee yellow crocus with hurrying feet
To the hurrying bluebird, “I’ll beat, O I’ll beat,”
But the bluebird called, “Why
I’ll be back in a jiffy through air and through sky;
O there’s no doubt I’ll win,
For I’m sure I’ll be in
At the very first bound;”
Then the crocus gave one good push from the ground,
But what do you think?—at that very same minute—
She saw a near tree with the puffing bird in it!
They looked at each other and then at the sun,
And then they both laughed—for it’s strange! but both won!
And quite out of breath they sat thinking together,
How the old places looked and what beautiful weather!

6. Lament

       by Bliss Carman

When you hear the white-throat pealing
From a tree-top far away,
And the hills are touched with purple
At the borders of the day;
When the redwing sounds his whistle
At the coming on of spring,
And the joyous April pipers
Make the alder marshes ring;
When the wild new breath of being
Whispers to the world once more,
And before the shrine of beauty
Every spirit must adore;
When long thoughts come back with twilight,
And a tender deepened mood
Shows the eyes of the beloved
Like the hepaticas in the wood;
Ah, remember, when to nothing
Save to love your heart gives heed,
And spring takes you to her bosom, —
So it was with Golden Weed!

7. Spring

       by Annette Wynne

The robin saw the new spring bonnet
On a small maid’s head,
And called the seeds to look upon it,
In the flower bed;
Soon there was a growing sound,
The flowers peeped up all around,
And all the birds began to sing—
And it was spring!

8. March

       by Douglas Malloch

In what a travail is our Springtime born!—
‘Mid leaden skies and garmenture of gloom.
Wild waves of cloud the drifting stars consume
And shipless seas of heaven greet the morn.
The forest trees stand sad and tempest-torn,
Memorials of Summer’s ended bloom;
For unto March, the sister most forlorn,
No roses come her pathway to illume.
Yet ’tis the month the Winter northward flies
With one last trumpeting of savage might.
Now stirs the earth of green that underlies
This other earth enwrapped in garb of white.
And while poor March, grown weary, droops and dies
The little Springtime opens wide its eyes.

9. The Secret

       by Anonymous

We have a secret, just we three,
The Robin and I and the sweet cherry tree;
The bird told the tree and the tree told me,
And nobody knows it but just we three.

But of course, the robin knows it best
Because she built the—I shan’t tell the rest;
And laid the four little—something in it—
I’m afraid I shall tell it any minute.

But if the tree and robin don’t peep,
I’ll try my best the secret to keep;
But I know when the baby birds fly about
Then the secret will all be out.

Spring Poems for Adults

For adults, spring is not just a season; it’s a reflection of life’s complex experiences. Poems about spring for adults delve into the deeper emotions and themes. They offer a mature perspective on rebirth, renewal, and the profound changes that spring brings.

1. Frost in Spring

       by Jessie Belle Rittenhouse

Oh, had it been in Autumn, when all is spent and sere,
That the first numb chill crept on us, with its ghostly hint of fear,
I had borne to see love go, with things detached and frail,
Swept outward with the blowing leaf on the unresting gale.
But when day is a magic thing, when Time begins anew,
When every clod is parted by Beauty breaking through,—
How can it be that you and I bring Love no offering,
How can it be that frost should fall upon us in the Spring!

2. Springtime

       by James W. Whilt

When sun begins to melt the snow
And the birds commence to sing,
And the days are getting longer,
Then we know ’tis surely spring.
It is then you get a fever,
But your temp’ture does not raise,
It’s a kind of lazy feeling
On those balmy warm spring days.
And it starts your mind to working,
While your thoughts commence to stray,
To the hills and lakes and rivers,
And green woodlands far away.
And it makes you feel so drowsy
That you long to go to sleep,
Out beneath some tall green pine tree,
Where the shadows cool and deep
Just seem to be a-calling,
While the stream beneath the hill
Is chuckling with glad laughter,
And I seem to hear it still.
‘Tis then memory breaks its halter
And stampedes and starts to go,
Till it stops in childhood’s pasture
In the days of long ago;
Where the birds were all a-singing,
Songs so rare and pure and sweet,
Squirrel’s chatter in the tree-tops,—
Flowers blooming at your feet.
Then the city seems a prison,
While brick walls like prison bars,
Seem to reach clear up to heaven,
Till they mingle with the stars.
Still I do not call a doctor,
For he cannot ease, I know,
Any longings for the wildwood
Of the days of long ago.

3. A Lyric

       by Bliss Carman

Oh, once I could not understand
The sob within the throat of spring,—
The shrilling of the frogs, nor why
The birds so passionately sing.
That was before your beauty came
And stooped to teach my soul desire,
When on these mortal lips you laid
The magic and immortal fire.
I wondered why the sea should seem
So gray, so lonely, and so old;
The sigh of level-driving snows
In winter so forlornly cold.
I wondered what it was could give
The scarlet autumn pomps their pride,
And paint with colors not of earth
The glory of the mountainside.
I could not tell why youth should dream
And worship at the evening star,
And yet must go with eager feet
Where danger and where splendor are.
I could not guess why men at times,
Beholding beauty, should go mad
With joy or sorrow or despair
Or some unknown delight they had.

I wondered what they had received
From Time’s inexorable hand
So full of loveliness and doom.
But now, ah, now I understand!

4. My Lady Anemone

       by John Jarvis Holden

Beneath soft snows harsh winter lingering
Takes stand, betimes, against th’ advancing spring
To find itself betrayed before its flight —
Within their midst that daintiest eremite,
Th’ anemone, dear April’s solacing.
Rare this, but rarer note doth nature ring
When silvery locks, time’s counterfeits, soft cling
About a visage pink with vernal light
Beneath soft snows!

What lovelier fancy can she set a-wing?
Here rifted age holds youth in th’ opening;
Here wisdom’s hoary poll, in sweet despite,
Is set to crown a face of pure delight —
The wind-flower face I all too faintly sing
Beneath soft snows.

5. Spring Twilight

       by Madison Cawein

The sun set late; and left along the west
A belt of furious ruby, o’er which snows
Of clouds unrolled; each cloud a mighty breast
Blooming with almond-rose.
The sun set late; and wafts of wind beat down,
And cuffed the blossoms from the blossoming quince;
Scattered the pollen from the lily’s crown,
And made the clover wince.
By dusky forests, through whose fretful boughs
In flying fragments shot the evening’s flame,
Adown the tangled lane the quiet cows
With dreamy tinklings came.
The sun set late; but hardly had he gone
When o’er the moon’s gold-litten crescent there,
Clean Phosphor, polished as a precious stone,
Burned in fair deeps of air.
As from faint stars the glory waned and waned,
The crickets made the oldtime garden shrill;
And past the luminous pasture-lands complained
The first far whippoorwill.

6. In Shadow

       by Emily Dickinson

I dreaded that first robin so,
But he is mastered now,
And I’m accustomed to him grown, —
He hurts a little, though.

I thought if I could only live
Till that first shout got by,
Not all pianos in the woods
Had power to mangle me.

I dared not meet the daffodils,
For fear their yellow gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own.

I wished the grass would hurry,
So when ‘t was time to see,
He’d be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch to look at me.

I could not bear the bees should come,
I wished they’d stay away
In those dim countries where they go:
What word had they for me?

They’re here, though; not a creature failed,
No blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me,
The Queen of Calvary.

Each one salutes me as he goes,
And I my childish plumes
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking drums.

7. In April

       by Edna Mead

Young Spring stands on a hill-top
With a beckoning staff of green
Till I meet his eyes
With a swift surprise
And feel my soul swept clean—
Clean and sweet and vernal
With not one scar nor stain.
Quick for the boon eternal
Of April’s sun and rain.
Young Spring stands on a hill-top
Against the morning gold,
And his song, hurled
Across the world
Till no man more is old.
For he will not walk with sorrow,
But with bursting buds, in sooth,
He lets me glimpse tomorrow,
And the feast he spreads for youth.
Young Spring stands on a hill-top
While I—my hearts aflame!
Young Spring waits on a hill-top,
And calls—my name!

8. Spring

       by Madison Cawein

First Came the rain, loud, with sonorous lips;
A pursuivant who heralded a prince:
And dawn put on her livery of tints,
And dusk bound gold about her hair and hips:
And, all in silver mail, the sunlight came,
A knight, who bade the winter let him pass;
And freed imprisoned beauty, naked as
The Court of Love, in all her wildflower shame.
And so she came, in breeze-borne loveliness,
Across the hills; and heav’n bent down to bless:
Above her head the birds were as a lyre;
And at her feet, like some strong worshipper,
The shouting water pæn’d praise of her
Who, with blue eyes, set the wild world on fire.

9. The Lawn Mower

       by Sarah Barber

When we finally flip it over
the fireflies are out. The neighbor boy
has had his stitches in so I can finally admit
I think it is all fantastic: the suck
of the spark plug undone, the stuck blade
bent into the guard, and the sound
of the hammer’s head reshaping the metal.
In this our suburban Eden we’ve only
a teenage Adam too dreamy to manage
his motorized scythe and silly Eve leaving
her coffee cups and plastic plant pots
behind in the grass. Though it’s a long way
from a fall, this spring’s first disaster,
I did like the thin thread of red
on his upper lip, and I like my mower
turned over among the glowworms,
a monstrous dandelion as unnatural as we
are, out in a garden, with our untidy
golds and our dangerous sharps.

Spring Poems for Kids

In the eyes of children, spring is a magical world of wonder and discovery. Spring poems for kids are a gateway to this enchanting realm. They introduce young minds to the joys of the season, fostering a lifelong love for poetry and nature.

1. Each year

       by Dora Malech

I snap the twig to try to trap
the springing and I relearn the same lesson.
You cannot make a keepsake of this season.
Your heart’s not the source of that sort of sap,
lacks what it takes to fuel, rejects the graft,
though for a moment it’s your guilty fist
that’s flowering. You’re no good host to this
extremity that points now, broken, back at
the dirt as if to ask are we there yet.
You flatter this small turn tip of a larger
book of matches that can’t refuse its end,
re-fuse itself, un-flare. Sure. Now forget
again. Here’s a new green vein, another
clutch to take, give, a handful of seconds.

2. Child’s Song in Spring

       by Edith Nesbit

The silver birch is a dainty lady,
She wears a satin gown;
The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
She will not live in town.
The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
He gets his green coat late;
The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,
While brown the beech trees wait.
Such a gay green gown God gives the larches—
As green as He is good!
The hazels hold up their arms for arches
When Spring rides through the wood.
The chestnut’s proud, and the lilac’s pretty,
The poplar’s gentle and tall,
But the plane tree’s kind to the poor dull city—
I love him best of all!

3. The Beautiful Spring

       by George Cooper

“I was here first,” said the snowdrop: “look!”
“Not before me!” sang the silver brook.
“Why,” cried the grass, “I’ve been here a week!”
“So have I, dear,” sighed a violet meek.

“Well,” piped a bluebird, “don’t leave me out!
I saw the snow that lay round about.”
“Yes,” chirped a snowbird, “that may be true;
But I’ve seen it all the bleak winter through.”

“I came betimes,” sang the southwind, “I!”
“After me, love!” spake the deep blue sky.
“Who is it cares?” chimed the crickets gay:
“Now you are here, let us hope you’ll stay.”

Whispered the sun, “Lo! the winter’s past:
What does it matter who’s first or last?
Sky, brooks, and flowers, and birdies that sing,
All help to make up the beautiful spring.”

4. Song of March

       by Patricia L. Cisco

With winter’s footprints in the past,
and snows begin to melt at last.

With longer days and shorter nights,
the wayward winds of March take flight.

Four winds she holds within her grip,
then hurls them from her fingertip.

Her woolly, fleecy clouds of white,
she sets in skies of blue delight.

Her wild bouts of gusty breezes
roar through valleys, hills, and trees.

That high pitch whistling song she sings
awakens earth and flowering things.

She tears a hole in heaven’s sky
so sun can shine and rain can cry.

She gently calms as spring draws near,
as blooming daffodils appear.

She welcomes April showers in,
then gathers up her dwindling winds.
Now her long journey home begins,

knowing she’ll be back this way,
upon a cold, late winter’s day,

when nights grow short
and days grow long.

Listen for her whistling song!

5. Nature’s Way

       by Heidi Campbell

Upon a nice mid-spring day,
Let’s take a look at Nature’s way.
Breathe the scent of nice fresh air,
Feel the breeze within your hair.

The grass will poke between your toes,
Smell the flowers with your nose.
Clouds form shapes within the skies,
And light will glisten from your eyes.

Hear the buzzing of the bees,
Climb the tallest willow trees.
Look across the meadow way,
And you shall see a young deer play.

Pick the daisies as they grow,
Watch a gentle cold stream flow.
Know the sounds of water splash,
Catch its glimmer in a flash.

When altogether all seems sound,
Lay yourself upon the ground.
Take a moment to inhale,
And listen to Nature tell her tale…

6. To the Thawing Wind

       by Robert Frost

Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate’er you do tonight,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit’s crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o’er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.

7. In Cold Spring Air

       by Reginald Gibbons

In cold spring air the
white wisp-visible
breath of a blackbird
singing—we don’t know
to un-wrap these blind-
folds we keep thinking
we are seeing through

8. After the Winter

       by Claude McKay

Someday, when trees have shed their leaves
And against the morning’s white
The shivering birds beneath the eaves
Have sheltered for the night,
We’ll turn our faces southward, love,
Toward the summer isle
Where bamboos spire to shafted grove
And wide-mouthed orchids smile.

And we will seek the quiet hill
Where towers the cotton tree,
And leaps the laughing crystal rill,
And works the droning bee.
And we will build a cottage there
Beside an open glade,
With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,
And ferns that never fade.

9. Spring is Here

       by Zoe

Spring is here
Spring is fun

Spring with kids playing around
Spring is hot
Sometimes rainy
Spring break! With kids so happy

Sping is good
Spring maybe have bad luck
Sometimes people go indoors
Because it is…

So hot! People love spring
So do I!

Spring is here
Spring is very fun
Spring is almost done, so
Say bye-bye!
So now you will see next year
That it will be back to

Spring Poems about Rebirth

Rebirth is at the heart of spring, and these poems capture this theme in its purest form. Join us in discovering the profound connection between spring and rebirth through these poems about spring and rebirth.

1. Spring is Coming

       by Ann Hawkshaw

There is a whisper in the woods,
The breath of soft winds passing through,
And rustling ‘mid the dry brown leaves,
Where last year’s primrose grew;
And high upon the leafless boughs
Blithe Robin cheerily is singing,
And to and fro the anemones
Like fairy bells are swinging!
The rivulet is murmuring
Within its pebbly bed,
For the ice bands which held it fast
With the last sunshine fled;
And many-coloured lichens creep
O’er the old trees and stones,—
There are a thousand pleasant sights,
A thousand gladsome tones:
For Spring is coming—and the flowers
Will waken as from sleep;
The birds will warble in the bowers,
In streams the fishes leap;
The butterflies will flutter past,
The bees begin their humming;
Cold winter does not ever last,
Spring, pleasant Spring, is coming!

2. Spring

       by Christina Rossetti

Frost-locked all the winter,
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
What shall make their sap ascend
That they may put forth shoots?
Tips of tender green,
Leaf, or blade, or sheath;
Telling of the hidden life
That breaks forth underneath,
Life nursed in its grave by Death.
Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly,
Drips the soaking rain,
By fits looks down the waking sun:
Young grass springs on the plain;
Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees;
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
Swollen with sap, put forth their shoots;
Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane;
Birds sing and pair again.
There is no time like Spring,
When life’s alive in everything,
Before new nestlings sing,
Before cleft swallows speed their journey back
Along the trackless track,—
God guides their wing,
He spreads their table that they nothing lack,—
Before the daisy grows a common flower,
Before the sun has power
To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.
There is no time like Spring,
Like Spring that passes by;
There is no life like Spring-life born to die,—
Piercing the sod,
Clothing the uncouth clod,
Hatched in the nest,
Fledged on the windy bough,
Strong on the wing:
There is no time like Spring that passes by,
Now newly born, and now
Hastening to die.

3. The Waking Earth

       by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

With shy bright clamour the live brooks sparkle and run.
Freed flocks confer about the farmstead ways.
The air’s a wine of dreams and shining haze,
Beaded with bird-notes thin,—for Spring’s begun!
The sap flies upward. Death is over and done.
The glad earth wakes; the glad light breaks; the days
Grow round, grow radiant. Praise for the new life!
For bliss of breath and blood beneath the sun!
With potent wizardry the wise earth wields,
To conjure with a perfume! From bare fields
The sense drinks in a breath of furrow and sod.
And lo, the bound of days and distance yields;
And fetterless the soul is flown abroad,
Lord of desire and beauty, like a God!

4. Spring Song

       by Elaine

Oh, the little streams are running,
Running, running!—
Oh, the little streams are running
O’er the lea;
And the green soft grass is springing,
Springing, springing!—
And the green soft grass is springing,
Fair to see.
In the woods the breezes whisper,
Whisper, whisper!—
In the woods the breezes whisper
To the flowers;
And the robins sing their welcome,
Welcome, welcome!—
And the robins sing their welcome,—
Happy hours!
Over all the sun is shining,
Shining, shining!—
Over all the sun is shining,
Clear and bright,—
Flooding bare and waiting meadows,
Meadows, meadows!—
Flooding bare and waiting meadows
With his light.

5. A March Glee

       by John Burroughs

I hear the wild geese honking
From out the misty night,—
A sound of moving armies
On-sweeping in their might;
The river ice is drifting
Beneath their northward flight.
I hear the bluebird plaintive
From out the morning sky,
Or see his wings a-twinkle
That with the azure vie;
No other bird more welcome,
No more prophetic cry.
I hear the sparrow’s ditty
Anear my study door;
A simple song of gladness
That winter days are o’er
My heart is singing with him,
I love him more and more.
I hear the starling fluting
His liquid “O-ka-lee;”
I hear the downy drumming,
His vernal reveillé;
From out the maple orchard
The nuthatch calls to me.
Oh, spring is surely coming.
Her couriers fill the air;
Each morn are new arrivals,
Each night her ways prepare;
I scent her fragrant garments,
Her foot is on the stair.

6. The Sleeping Beauty

       by Mathilde Blind

There was intoxication in the air;
The wind, keen blowing from across the seas,
O’er leagues of new-ploughed land and heathery leas,
Smelt of wild gorse whose gold flamed everywhere.
An undertone of song pulsed far and near,
The soaring larks filled heaven with ecstasies,
And, like a living clock among the trees,
The shouting cuckoo struck the time of year.
For now the Sun had found the earth once more,
And woke the Sleeping Beauty with a kiss;
Who thrilled with light of love in every pore,
Opened her flower-blue eyes, and looked in his.
Then all things felt life fluttering at their core—
The world shook mystical in lambent bliss.

7. The First Breath of Spring

       by Ellen P. Allerton

The drifts lie deep, the ice bound stream
Wrestles in vain with its wedded chain:
The lake still sleeps, still dreams its dream,
Under its bright, cold counterpane.
The woods are mute, save the mournful tune
Sung by the wind in last year’s leaves.
Still that cracked and dolorous tune
Sobs and shudders and frets and grieves.
Winter is king:—yet, soft and sweet,
Comes a whisper, a fair, faint tone
Of distant music in muffled beat,
Only a breath, yet it shakes his throne!
Only a breath! and so faint and low,
That I lean to listen, and bare my head—
Lean to listen—till over the snow
Comes the sound of a velvet tread.
Who breathes so low? who comes apace.
Treading softly, with feet unseen,
With muffled form, and with covered face?
It is Spring that comes.—Long live the Queen!
Welcome! all hail to the reign so near!
Thine hour is not yet come, we know;
We shall wait through days that are gray and drear,
Through howling tempest and driving snow.
But we well can wait: the fields, the lake.
Silent lie, like a realm of death;
Yet thou art near and the dead shall wake,
We have heard thy voice, we have felt thy breath!
Haste! oh haste! In this hour of calm
We have heard thee, but oh to feel thy kiss!
Oh for the touch of thy lips of balm!
And oh! to be drunk with thy draughts

8. How the Flowers Grow

       by Gabriel Setoun

This is how the flowers grow;
I have watched them, and I know.
First, above the ground is seen
A tiny blade of purest green,
Reaching up and peeping forth
East and west, and south and north.
Then it shoots up day by day,
Growing in a curious way
Round a blossom, which it keeps
Warm and cozy while it sleeps.
Then the sunbeams find their way
To the sleeping bud and say,
“We are children of the sun,
Sent to wake thee, little one.”
And the leaflet, opening wide,
Shows the tiny bud inside,
Peeping with half-opened eye
On the bright and sunny sky.
Breezes from the west and south
Lay their kisses on its mouth;
Till the petals all are grown,
And the bud’s a flower blown.
This is how the flowers grow;
I have watched them and I know.

9. Spring

       by Carole Mullen

Spring is budding green joy
Fresh breeze and sunshine
Birds singing
Water running
Children sloshing through puddles
On the sidewalk

Spring breathes anticipation

Green shoots sprouting from the earth
Unfurling into flowers
The sweet scent of hyacinths
A baby bird learning how to fly

Spring sweeps the dust out of our corners

As we wake up
As we look and listen
To the promise of a morning sunrise
To joy unfolding
To a glowing new life

10. Spring Whispers

       by Catherine Pulsifer

In winter’s grasp, the world lay still,
A landscape draped in white and chill.
But hark! Spring’s whispers softly sound,
As nature wakes from slumber profound.

With gentle touch, the sun’s warm ray,
Unfurls the buds in colors gay.
From barren branches, new life springs,
A symphony of joyful things.

The flowers bloom in vibrant hue,
Their fragrant scents refresh and woo.
Each petal, like a painter’s brush,
Transforms the world from gray to lush.

Leaves unfurl, for all to see,
Dancing upon each welcoming tree.
The black and white of winter’s reign,
Now bathed in hues that bring no pain.

Oh, how the beauty of spring’s embrace,
Fills every heart with joy and grace.
Renewal whispers in every breeze,
As nature awakens from her freeze.

So let us revel in this wondrous sight,
As spring unveils her colors bright.
A season of hope, a time to sing,
As life renews in splendid spring.

Final Thoughts

As we conclude our poetic journey through spring, we invite you to share your thoughts and reflections on these spring poems in the comments below.

Spring poems, be they about the season’s beauty, its famous renditions, or its power to inspire, hold a special place in our hearts.

They encapsulate the very essence of new beginnings and the hope that springs eternal.

We hope you’ve found inspiration, solace, and joy in these poems about spring, whether you’re an adult or a child, a lover of rhyme, or a seeker of deeper meaning.

As the flowers bloom and the world transforms, let this spring poetry remind you of the beauty and resilience of life.

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