Summer Poems

Poems to make you one with the sun.
Detail of "Summer Grasses" by Sara Katz
  • William Matthews

    Haze. Three student violists boarding
    a bus. A clatter of jackhammers.

  • Adam Zagajewski

    To go to Lvov. Which station
    for Lvov, if not in a dream, at dawn, when dew

  • Philip Larkin

    At first, I didn't notice what a noise
       The weddings made
    Each station that we stopped at

  • Thom Gunn

    On motorcycles, up the road, they come:
    Small, black, as flies hanging in heat, the Boys

  • Anonymous

    Sing, cuccu, nu. Sing, cuccu.
    Sing, cuccu. Sing, cuccu, nu.

  • Amy Lowell

    The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.

  • Robert Louis Stevenson

    How do you like to go up in a swing,
    Up in the air so blue?

  • Robert Frost

    Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
    And here on earth come emulating flies,

  • Robert Louis Stevenson

    In winter I get up at night
    And dress by yellow candle-light.
    In summer, quite the other way,
    I have to go to bed by day.

  • Léonie Adams

    Now the rich cherry, whose sleek wood,
    And top with silver petals traced

  • Reginald Gibbons

    The thick-walled room’s cave-darkness,
    cool in summer, soothes

  • Gary Snyder

    Down valley a smoke haze
    Three days heat, after five days rain

  • Marge Piercy

    The first lily of June opens its red mouth.
    All over the sand road where we walk

  • Lynda Hull

    In those days I thought their endless thrum
        was the great wheel that turned the days, the nights.

  • A. F. Moritz

    one with the sun

  • David Mason

    Colorado turns Kyoto in a shower,
    mist in the pines so thick the crows delight

  • William Butler Yeats

    I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
    And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

  • Ernest Lawrence Thayer

    The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
    The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.

  • William Carlos Williams

    The crowd at the ball game
    is moved uniformly

  • Stuart Dybek

    I once hit clothespins
    for the Chicago Cubs.

  • Gail Mazur

    The game of baseball is not a metaphor
    and I know it’s not really life.

    • Appeared in Poetry Magazine Moths
    Jennifer O'Grady

    Adrift in the liberating, late light
    of August, delicate, frivolous

  • Stephen Kuusisto

    Fires, always fires after midnight,
    the sun depending in the purple birches

  • Tony Hoagland

    Sometimes I wish I were still out
    on the back porch, drinking jet fuel

  • Andrew Marvell

    Ye living lamps, by whose dear light
    The nightingale does sit so late

  • Matthea Harvey

    Last night the apple trees shook and gave each lettuce a heart
    Six hard red apples broke through the greenhouse glass and

  • Minnie Bruce Pratt

    With this rain I am satisfied we will be together
    in the spring. Seeds of water on my window glass

    • Appeared in Poetry Magazine Paths
    John Montague

    We had two gardens.
    A real flower garden

  • James Tate

    Jim just loves to garden, yes he does.
    He likes nothing better than to put on

  • Louise Glück

    In your extended absence, you permit me
    use of earth, anticipating

  • Lucia Perillo

    I couldn't have waited. By the time you return
    it would have rotted on the vine.

  • Mary Makofske

    I leave the formal garden of schedules
    where hours hedge me, clip the errant sprigs

  • Robert Wrigley

    Sleepy and suburban at dusk,
    I learn again the yard’s

  • Patricia Goedicke

    Whenever I see two women
           crowned, constellated friends

  • Hannah F. Gould

    A tulip, just opened, had offered to hold
       A butterfly, gaudy and gay;

  • Mark Jarman

    The children are hiding among the raspberry canes.
    They look big to one another, the garden small.

  • Jane Kenyon

    A second crop of hay lies cut
    and turned. Five gleaming crows

  • Seamus Heaney

    Late August, given heavy rain and sun
    For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.

  • Naomi Shihab Nye

    Spun silk of mercy,
    long-limbed afternoon

  • Ellen Bryant Voigt

    Like words put to a song, the bunched tobacco leaves
    are strung along a stick, the women

  • Christina Rossetti

    Why were you born when the snow was falling?
    You should have come to the cuckoo’s calling