Peaceful Poetry Meditation—Nature’s Embrace (No Music)

A collection of classic, beloved poems drifting through peaceful scenes, as you nourish yourself through the beauty of nature. This poetry can be a soothing guided meditation, allowing the words to evoke heartfelt feelings of peace.

List of Poets:
W B Yeats
William Henry Davies
Robert Frost
Walter de la Mare
Herman Hesse
John Clare
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Sir Samuel Ferguson
Charles Wolfe
Amergin
Lao Tzu
William Wordsworth
A Native American Ute Prayer
María Sabina

Production by Adam Metcalfe of Headroomusic

Transcript

Hello,

Namaste,

And welcome.

I'm Julie Murphy,

Also known as a yogaresa.

This is a form of guided meditation as you immerse yourself in these poems and you let your imagination drift through peaceful scenes,

Nourishing yourself through the beauty of nature.

There is no bell at the end of this track,

So you may want to set a timer if you don't plan to sleep.

Thank you for meditating with me.

If you're ready,

You can close your eyes at any time.

Become aware of the room that you're in and awareness of your physical surroundings.

Any sounds that might be close by or far away.

And notice how you feel physically,

Mentally,

Emotionally.

Just checking in with how you feel today or tonight,

Observing how you are in this moment.

And you might take a little while to enjoy one or two slow and easy breaths in and out.

Aware of your breathing and aware of how this can bring you more into the present moment,

So that you can enjoy these beautiful poems.

The Wild Swans at Cool by William Butler Yeats The trees are in their autumn beauty.

The woodland paths are dry.

Under the October twilight,

The water mirrors a still sky.

Upon the brimming water among the stones are nine and fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me since I first made my count.

I saw,

Before I had well finished,

All suddenly mount and scatter,

Wheeling in great broken rings upon their glamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,

And now my heart is sore.

All's changed since I,

Hearing at twilight the first time on this shore,

The bell beat of their wings above my head,

Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still,

Lover by lover,

They paddle in the cold,

Companionable streams or climb the air.

Their hearts have not grown old.

Passion or conquest wonder where they will attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,

Mysterious,

Beautiful.

Among what rushes will they build?

By what lake's edge or pool delight men's eyes,

When I awake someday to find they have flown away?

Leisure by William Henry Davies What is this life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs and stare as long as sheep and cows.

No time to see when woods we pass where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see in broad daylight streams full of stars like skies at night.

No time to turn at beauty's glance and watch her feet how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life,

This,

If full of care we have no time to stand and stare.

Rose Pegonias by Robert Frost A saturated meadow,

Sun-shaped and jewel-small.

A circle scarcely wider than the trees around were tall.

Where winds were quite excluded and the air was stifling sweet with the breath of many flowers,

A temple of the heat.

There we bowed us in the burning as the sun's right worship is.

To pick where none could miss them a thousand orcas.

For though the grass was scattered,

Yet every second spear seemed tipped with wings of colour that tinged the atmosphere.

We raised a simple prayer before we left the spot.

That in the general mowing that place might be forgot.

Or if not all so favoured,

Obtain such grace of ours that none should mow the grass there while so confused with flowers.

Winter by Walter de la Mer And the robin flew into the air,

The air,

The white mist through.

And small and rare the night frost fell into the calm and misty dell.

And the dusk gathered low,

And the silver moon and stars on the frozen snow drew taper bars,

Kindled winking fires in the hooded briars.

And the sprawling bear growled deep in the sky,

And Orion's hair streamed sparkling by.

But the north sighed low,

Snow,

Snow,

More snow.

Sometimes by Hermann Hesse Sometimes when a bird cries out,

Or the wind sweeps through a tree,

Or a dog barks in a distant farmyard,

I hold still and listen a long time.

My soul turns and goes back to the place where a thousand forgotten years ago the bird and the blowing wind were like me,

And were my brothers.

My soul becomes a tree,

An animal,

A cloud woven across the sky.

Then changed and unfamiliar it comes home and asks me questions.

How shall I reply?

On a lane in spring by John Clare.

A little lane.

The brook runs close beside,

And spangles in the sunshine while the fish glide swiftly by.

And hedges leafing with the green spring tide.

From out their greenery the old birds fly and chirp and whistle in the morning sun.

The pilewort glitters neath the pale blue sky.

The little robin has its nest begun.

And grass-green lunnets round the bushes fly.

How mild the spring comes in.

The daisy buds lift up their golden blossoms to the sky.

How lovely are the pingles and the woods.

Here a beetle runs.

And there a fly rests on the arum leaf in bottle green.

And all the spring in this sweet lane is seen.

See yonder leafless trees by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

See yonder leafless trees against the sky.

How they diffuse themselves into the air.

And,

Ever subdividing,

Separate limbs into branches,

Branches into twigs.

As if they loved the element and hasted to dissipate their being into it.

The Lark in the Clear Air by Sir Samuel Ferguson Dear thoughts are in my mind and my soul soars enchanted.

As I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day.

For a tender beaming smile to my hope has been granted.

And tomorrow she shall hear all my fond heart would say.

I shall tell her all my love,

All my soul's adoration.

And I think she will hear me and will not say me nay.

It is this that fills my soul with its joyous elation.

As I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day.

Winter by Walter de la Mer Clouded with snow,

The cold winds blow.

And shrill on leafless bough,

The robin with its burning breast alone sings now.

The rayless sun,

Day's journey done,

Sheds its last ebbing light on fields in leagues of beauty spread unearthly white.

Thick draws the dark,

And by spark the frost fires kindle.

And soon,

Over that sea of frozen foam,

Floats the white moon.

A sonnet by Charles Wolfe My spirits on the mountains,

Where the birds in wild and sportive freedom wing the air.

Amidst the heath flowers and the browsing herds,

Where nature's altar is,

My spirit's there.

It is my joy to tread the pathless hills,

Though but in fancy,

For my mind is free and walks by sedgy ways and trickling rules,

While I'm forbid the use of liberty.

This is delusion,

But it is so sweet that I could live deluded.

Let me be persuaded that my springing soul may meet the eagle on the hills and I am free.

Who'd not be flattered by a fate like this?

To fancy is to feel our happiness.

The Mystery I am the wind which breathes upon the sea.

I am the wave of the ocean.

I am the murmur of the billows.

I am the ox of the seven combats.

I am the vulture upon the rocks.

I am the beam of the sun.

I am the fairest of plants.

I am the wild boar in valour.

I am a salmon in the water.

I am a lake in the plain.

I am a word of science.

I am the point of the lance of battle.

I am the god who created in the head the fire.

Who is it who throws light into the medium?

Who is it who is the meeting on the mountain?

Who announces the ages of the moon?

Who teaches the place where couches the sun,

If not I?

Do you imagine by Lao Tzu?

Do you imagine the universe is agitated?

Go into the desert at night and look at the stars.

This practice should answer the question.

The superior person settles his mind as the universe settles the stars in the sky.

By connecting his mind with the subtle origin,

He calms it.

Once calmed,

It naturally expands and ultimately his mind becomes as vast and as immeasurable as the night sky.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree by William Butler Yeats I will arise and go now and go to Innisfree.

And a small cabin build there of clay and wattles made.

Nine bean rows will I have there.

A hive for the honeybee.

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there.

For peace comes dropping slow.

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.

There midnights all a glimmer and noon a purple glow and evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now.

For always,

Night and day,

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore.

While I stand on the roadway or on the pavement's grey,

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Silver by Walter de la Mer Slowly,

Silently,

Now the moon walks the night in her silver shoon.

This way and that,

She peers and sees silver fruit upon silver trees.

One by one,

The casements catch her beams beneath the silvery thatch.

Couched in his kennel like a log,

With paws of silver,

Sleeps the dog.

From their shadowy coat the white breasts peep of doves in a silver-feathered sleep.

A harvest mouse goes scampering by with silver claws and a silver eye.

And moveless fish in the water gleam by silver reeds in a silver stream.

The sun has long been set by William Wordsworth.

The sun has long been set.

The stars are out by twos and threes.

The little birds are piping.

Yet among the bushes and the trees there's a cuckoo and one or two thrushes.

And a far-off wind that rushes.

And a sound of water that gushes.

And the cuckoo's sovereign cry fills all the hollow of the sky.

Who would go parading in London and masquerading on such a night of June with that beautiful soft half-moon and all these innocent blisses on such a night as this is?

Earth,

Teach me a Native American prayer.

Earth,

Teach me quiet as the grasses are still with new light.

Earth,

Teach me suffering as old stones suffer with memory.

Earth,

Teach me humility as blossoms are humble with beginning.

Earth,

Teach me caring as mothers nurture their young.

Earth,

Teach me courage as the tree that stands alone.

Earth,

Teach me limitation as the ant that crawls on the ground.

Earth,

Teach me freedom as the eagle that soars in the sky.

Earth,

Teach me acceptance as the leaves that die each fall.

Earth,

Teach me renewal as the seed that rises in the spring.

Earth,

Teach me to forget myself as melted snow forgets its life.

Earth,

Teach me to remember kindness as dry fields weep with rain.

You are the medicine by Maria Sabina.

Cure yourself with the light of the sun and the rays of the moon.

With the sound of the river and the waterfall.

With the swaying of the sea and the fluttering of birds.

Heal yourself with mint,

With neem and eucalyptus.

Sweeten yourself with lavender,

Rosemary and chamomile.

Hug yourself with the cocoa bean and a touch of cinnamon.

Put love in tea instead of sugar and take it looking at the stars.

Heal yourself with the kisses that the wind gives you and the hugs of the rain.

Get strong with bare feet on the ground and with everything that is born from it.

Get smarter every day by listening to your intuition.

Looking at the world with the eye of your forehead.

Jump,

Dance,

Sing so that you live happier.

Heal yourself with beautiful love and always remember you are the medicine.

Feel the echo of the words of these poems.

Whatever is present in your own memories,

Images,

Thoughts and feelings.

The description of nature,

Of gracious white swans,

Of birdsong and honeybees,

Of starlit skies,

Moonlight,

Sunlight.

How all these elements of nature support us and nourish us.

Take these snapshots of nature's beauty with you into your sleep,

Into your dreams or into your day ahead.

Allow the beauty of nature to accompany you,

Nourishing,

Supporting and healing.

Thank you for meditating with me.

Reviews

Julie, I love your voice, and these poems! I will turn to them regularly. Thank you! What a beautiful practice you have given us. I look forward to more offerings, especially in Italian!

I fell asleep somewhere along the way, after giving up the struggle to make poetry make sense. In any case I love listening to Julie Murphy Yogaressa’s voice.
8/13/25

This was helpful and a new way to calm the story my mind was producing. TY