Sun

Poems about the Sun are poems not only about the astronomical star, but also about a «sunny» man, about a good mood, and about a peaceful sky overhead. Because the Sun is a symbol of peace, creation, and stability. Poems about the sun will give you a good mood. The Sun is not greedy, it is always ready to share its warmth and light with us.

«A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky» by Lewis Carroll

A boat beneath a sunny sky,

Lingering onward dreamily

In an evening of July —

Children three that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a simple tale to hear —

Long has paled that sunny sky:

Echoes fade and memories die:

Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,

Alice moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream —

Lingering in the golden gleam —

Life, what is it but a dream?

***

«A Fine Day» by Katherine Mansfield

After all the rain, the sun
Shines on hill and grassy mead;
Fly into the garden, child,
You are very glad indeed.

For the days have been so dull,
Oh, so special dark and drear,
That you told me, “Mr. Sun
Has forgotten we live here.”

Dew upon the lily lawn,
Dew upon the garden beds;
Daintly from all the leaves
Pop the little primrose heads.

And the violets in the copse
With their parasols of green
Take a little peek at you;
They’re the bluest you have seen.

On the lilac tree a bird
Singing first a little not,
Then a burst of happy song
Bubbles in his lifted throat.

O the sun, the comfy sun!
This the song that you must sing,
“Thank you for the birds, the flowers,
Thank you, sun, for everything.”

***

«A Good Boy» by Robert Louis Stevenson

I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day,
I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play.

And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood,
And I am very happy, for I know that I’ve been good.

My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair,
And I must be off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer.

I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise,
No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes.

But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn,
And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn.

***

«A Little Song» by Amy Lowell

When you, my Dear, are away, away,
How wearily goes the creeping day.
A year drags after morning, and night
Starts another year of candle light.
O Pausing Sun and Lingering Moon!
Grant me, I beg of you, this boon.

Whirl round the earth as never sun
Has his diurnal journey run.
And, Moon, slip past the ladders of air
In a single flash, while your streaming hair
Catches the stars and pulls them down
To shine on some slumbering Chinese town.
O Kindly Sun! Understanding Moon!
Bring evening to crowd the footsteps of noon.

But when that long awaited day
Hangs ripe in the heavens, your voyaging stay.
Be morning, O Sun! with the lark in song,
Be afternoon for ages long.
And, Moon, let you and your lesser lights
Watch over a century of nights.

***

«A Miracle For Breakfast» by Elizabeth Bishop

At six o’clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
–like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.

The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river.
It was so cold we hoped that the coffee
would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.

He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds–along with the sun.

Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.

I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
–I saw it with one eye close to the crumb–

and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee.

We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee.
A window across the river caught the sun
as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.

***

«An Evening Song» by Sidney Lanier

Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,
And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea,
How long they kiss in sight of all the lands.
Ah! longer, longer, we.

Now in the sea’s red vintage melts the sun,
As Egypt’s pearl dissolved in rosy wine,
And Cleopatra night drinks all. ‘Tis done,
Love, lay thine hand in mine.

Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven’s heart;
Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands.
O night! divorce our sun and sky apart
Never our lips, our hands.

***

«April Rain» by Mathilde Blind

The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.

The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.

And between shower and shine hath birth
The rainbow’s evanescent glory;
Heaven’s light that breaks on mists of earth!
Frail symbol of our human story,
It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
Like Life on earth.

***

«Brown And Agile Child» by Pablo Neruda

Brown and agile child, the sun which forms the fruit
And ripens the grain and twists the seaweed
Has made your happy body and your luminous eyes
And given your mouth the smile of water.

A black and anguished sun is entangled in the twigs
Of your black mane when you hold out your arms.
You play in the sun as in a tidal river
And it leaves two dark pools in your eyes.

Brown and agile child, nothing draws me to you,
Everything pulls away from me here in the noon.
You are the delirious youth of bee,
The drunkedness of the wave, the power of the wheat.

My somber heart seeks you always
I love your happy body, your rich, soft voice.
Dusky butterfly, sweet and sure
Like the wheatfiled, the sun, the poppy, and the water.

***

«Dance of the Sunbeams» by Bliss Carman

When morning is high o’er the hilltops,
On river and stream and lake,
Wherever a young breeze whispers,
The sun-clad dancers wake.

One after one up-springing,
They flash from their dim retreat.
Merry as running laughter
Is the news of their twinkling feet.

Over the floors of azure
Wherever the wind-flaws run,
Sparkling, leaping, and racing,
Their antics scatter the sun.

As long as water ripples
And weather is clear and glad,
Day after day they are dancing,
Never a moment sad.

But when through the field of heaven
The wings of storm take flight,
At a touch of the flying shadows
They falter and slip from sight.

Until at the gray day’s ending,
As the squadrons of cloud retire,
They pass in the triumph of sunset
With banners of crimson fire.

***

«God’s Gold» by Annette Wynne

God placed a gold mint in the sky—
Large and bright, a heaping store—
So earth can every day have more,
He keeps it high,

He scatters gold abroad at day
In shining beams; then far and near
Dandelions gold appear
Along the way.

This is God’s gold dropped from the skies,
He gives it lavishly to earth—
O take it, spend it, learn its worth—
All ye with eyes!

***

«I’ll tell you how the sun rose» by Emily Dickinson

I’ll tell you how the sun rose, –
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
“That must have been the sun!”

But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile.
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while

Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.

***

«If I Were A Sunbeam» by Alice Cary

“If I were a sunbeam,
I know what I’d do;
I would seek white lilies,
Roaming woodlands through.
I would steal among them,
Softest light I’d shed,
Until every lily
Raised its drooping head.

“If I were a sunbeam,
I know where I’d go;
Into lowly hovels,
Dark with want and woe:
Till sad hearts looked upward,
I would shine and shine;
Then they’d think of heaven,
Their sweet home and mine.”

Are you not a sunbeam,
Child, whose life is glad
With an inner brightness
Sunshine never had?
Oh, as God has blessed you,
Scatter light divine!
For there is no sunbeam
But must die or shine.

***

«In Summer Time» by Paul Laurence Dunbar

When summer time has come, and all
The world is in the magic thrall
Of perfumed airs that lull each sense
To fits of drowsy indolence;
When skies are deepest blue above,
And flow’rs aflush,—then most I love
To start, while early dews are damp,
And wend my way in woodland tramp
Where forests rustle, tree on tree,
And sing their silent songs to me;
Where pathways meet and pathways part,—
To walk with Nature heart by heart,
Till wearied out at last I lie
Where some sweet stream steals singing by
A mossy bank; where violets vie
In color with the summer sky,—
Or take my rod and line and hook,
And wander to some darkling brook,
Where all day long the willows dream,
And idly droop to kiss the stream,
And there to loll from morn till night—
Unheeding nibble, run, or bite—
Just for the joy of being there
And drinking in the summer air,
The summer sounds, and summer sights,
That set a restless mind to rights
When grief and pain and raging doubt
Of men and creeds have worn it out;
The birds’ song and the water’s drone,
The humming bee’s low monotone,
The murmur of the passing breeze,
And all the sounds akin to these,
That make a man in summer time
Feel only fit for rest and rhyme.
Joy springs all radiant in my breast;
Though pauper poor, than king more blest,
The tide beats in my soul so strong
That happiness breaks forth in song,
And rings aloud the welkin blue
With all the songs I ever knew.
O time of rapture! time of song!
How swiftly glide thy days along
Adown the current of the years,
Above the rocks of grief and tears!
‘Tis wealth enough of joy for me
In summer time to simply be.

***

«In The Puddles» by Ernestine Northover

Rain bashing, rain crashing,
In the puddles, children splashing,
Mother’s tongue has started lashing,
Everyone is wet!

Rain slopping, rain stopping,
In the puddles, children hopping,
Mother’s hands have started mopping,
Everyone, I bet!

Sun waking, sun breaking,
In the puddles, children quaking,
Mother’s arms have started shaking,
Everyone, she’ll net!

Sun applying, sun drying,
In the puddles, children crying,
Mother’s breath is now a sighing,
Everyone’s upset!

Sun gleaming, sun scheming,
In the puddles, children steaming!
Mother’s smile, now is beaming,
Everyone’s her pet!

***

«Mining the Sunshine» by Amos Russel Wells

Some day, when the hollow mines
Yield their final, grudging toll,
When from out those drear confines
Comes the last black lump of coal,
Then, in chill and dark despair
We shall learn to look on high
To the quarry of the air,
To the coal-fields of the sky!

Where the sun in quietness
Bends his ample daily course,
There descends to cheer and bless
A Niagara of force.
Steadily ’tis pouring down,
An incessant, copious yield,
On the house-tops of the town,
On the reaches of the field

Here no strike and no combine
Will disturb the course of trade
Every man will boldly mine
In the sunfield unafraid
Every man will take his own
Fuel to his utmost need
And the sun upon his throne
Will rebuke our human greed

***

«My Sunset» by Theo Williams

The sun sets on the horizon from the distant land,
Where birds chirp and couples lay hand in hand.
I look at the sun to say goodbye,
To the beautiful colours that paint the sky.

Shades of orange, yellow and pink,
Fluffy white clouds, into my heart they sink.
And although I hate to see the sun go,
Its beauty and love has been my show.

I’ve seen the sunset so many times,
Yet it’s still the most favourite sight of mine.
Its exquisiteness strikes warm in the month December,
Its irreplaceable memory I will always remember.

There will be no sadness, nor any sorrow,
Because my sun, you will rise tomorrow.
I won’t feel hurt, nor feel any pain,
Because on your way down, your beauty will reign.

***

«Ode to the Sun» by Eloise Bibb

How many scenes, O sun,
Hast thou not shone upon!
How many tears, O light,
Have dropped before thy sight!
How many heart-felt sighs,
How many piercing cries,
How many deeds of woe,
Dost thy bright light not know!

How many broken hearts,
That are pierced by sorrow’s darts;
How many maddened brains,
That are wild with passion’s rains;
How many soul-sick lives,
Stabbed with despair’s sharp knives,
Hast thou above the skies,
Not seen with thy radiant eyes!

Shine on, majestic one!
Shine on, O glorious sun!
And never fail to cheer
My life so dark and drear.
Whene’er thou shinest bright,
And show thy brilliant light,
The cares I know each day
Silently steal away.

***

«Sonnet 8» by Henry Howard

Set me where as the sun doth parch the green,

Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice;

In temperate heat where he is felt and seen;

With proud people, in presence sad and wise;

Set me in base, or yet in high degree,

In the long night, or in the shortest day,

In clear weather, or where mists thickest be,

In lost youth, or when my hairs be grey;

Set me in earth, in heaven, or yet in hell,

In hill, in dale, or in the foaming flood;

Thrall, or at large, alive where so I dwell,

Sick, or in health, in ill fame or good:

Yours will I be, and with that only thought

Comfort myself when that my hope is nought.

***

«Summer Song» by George Barker

I looked into my heart to write
And found a desert there.
But when I looked again I heard
Howling and proud in every word
The hyena despair.

Great summer sun, great summer sun,
All loss burns in trophies;
And in the cold sheet of the sky
Lifelong the fishlipped lovers lie
Kissing catastrophes.

O loving garden where I lay
When under the breasted tree
My son stood up behind my eyes
And groaned: Remember that the price
Is vinegar for me.

Great summer sun, great summer sun,
Turn back to the designer:
I would not be the one to start
The breaking day and the breaking heart
For all the grief in China.

My one, my one, my only love,
Hide, hide your face in a leaf,
And let the hot tear falling burn
The stupid heart that will not learn
The everywhere of grief.

Great summer sun, great summer sun,
Turn back to the never-never
Cloud-cuckoo, happy, far-off land
Where all the love is true love, and
True love goes on for ever.

***

«Summer Sun» by Robert Louis Stevenson

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven without repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad,
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles,
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy’s inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

***

«The Sun» by Annette Wynne

Long before the postman comes
The sun begins to rise,
Far in the East if you should look
You’d find it in the skies.
At first it’s just a streak of light
Then all at once the world gets bright.
Then in the sky from East to West
The happy sun goes on its way.
And all day long it shines its best
To give us pleasant day.
Dear God, who made the day and night,
We thank Thee for the sun’s good light.

***

«The Sun Rising» by John Donne

Busy old fool, unruly sun,

               Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains call on us?

Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?

               Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide

               Late school boys and sour prentices,

         Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,

         Call country ants to harvest offices,

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

               Thy beams, so reverend and strong

               Why shouldst thou think?

I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,

But that I would not lose her sight so long;

               If her eyes have not blinded thine,

               Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,

         Whether both th’ Indias of spice and mine

         Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.

Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,

And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.

               She’s all states, and all princes, I,

               Nothing else is.

Princes do but play us; compared to this,

All honor’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.

               Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,

               In that the world’s contracted thus.

         Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be

         To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;

This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.

***

«The Sun Travels» by Robert Louis Stevenson

The sun is not a-bed, when I
At night upon my pillow lie;
Still round the earth his way he takes,
And morning after morning makes.

While here at home, in shining day,
We round the sunny garden play,
Each little Indian sleepy-head
Is being kissed and put to bed.

And when at eve I rise from tea,
Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;
And all the children in the West
Are getting up and being dressed.

***

«The Sunbeam» by Richard Coe

The sunbeam, the sunbeam,
It cheers the drooping heart
To see the glorious sunbeam
Its golden light impart.

The sunbeam, the sunbeam,
It smiles on the earth;
And through the jewels of the sky
The rainbow springs to birth.

So, like the sunbeam, let us strive
That our glad light be given
To bless and beautify the earth,
And turn our thoughts to heaven!

***

«The Sun’s Wooing» by Emily Dickinson

The sun just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.

She felt herself supremer, —
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king

Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems,
Leaving a new necessity, —
The want of diadems!

The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown, —
Her unanointed forehead
Henceforth her only one.

***

«The Sunshine Has a Pleasant Way» by Annette Wynne

The sunshine has a pleasant way
Of shining on us all the day,
It makes the little window bright,
And fills the room with pretty light.

It goes into the garden bed,
And shines on every flower head;
It warms each leaf and bud and seed
Till all the world is glad, indeed.

It creeps into the children’s faces
And climbs into the highest places,
It makes me want to work and sing
And do my best in everything.

I’m glad the sunshine comes each day
To help me work and laugh and play;
To keep the little window bright
And fill the room with pretty light.

***

«To Summer» by William Blake

O Thou who passest thro’ our vallies in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched’st here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy, thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o’er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy vallies, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our vallies love the Summer in his pride.

Our bards are fam’d who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.

***

«When The Sun Come After Rain» by Robert Louis Stevenson

WHEN the sun comes after rain
And the bird is in the blue,
The girls go down the lane
Two by two.

When the sun comes after shadow
And the singing of the showers,
The girls go up the meadow,
Fair as flowers.

When the eve comes dusky red
And the moon succeeds the sun,
The girls go home to bed
One by one.

And when life draws to its even
And the day of man is past,
They shall all go home to heaven,
Home at last.

***

«Women Washing Their Hair» by Carl Sandburg

They have painted and sung
the women washing their hair,
and the plaits and strands in the sun,
and the golden combs
and the combs of elephant tusks
and the combs of buffalo horn and hoof.

The sun has been good to women,
drying their heads of hair
as they stooped and shook their shoulders
and framed their faces with copper
and framed their eyes with dusk or chestnut.

The rain has been good to women.
If the rain should forget,
if the rain left off for a year—
the heads of women would wither,
the copper, the dusk and chestnuts, go.

They have painted and sung
the women washing their hair—
reckon the sun and rain in, too.

***

«You Are My Sunrise» by Theo Williams

The sun is smiling as I open my eyes
Birds serenading the awoken sky.
I watch from my window the sun climbing a hill
Spreading its glimmer so beautiful.

Trees catch the amber and red glow
Rising sun embracing me with love she bestows.
Caresses the clouds with her pink gleams
And sees her reflection in the crystal blue stream.

I look up at the cerulean sky
I feel God deposit heaven in my eyes.
This view is that of celestial
Giving a blessing upon the terrestrial.

She gives me hope to conquer my day
Free my problems and take my sorrows away.
She quenches my soul with kind bliss
And injects myself with tenderness.

My dear girl you have me in a paradise
My dear beauty you have me mesmerised
Because you are my lovely sun rise.
I love you.