Weather Poems

What is your favourite weather?
Listen to all sorts of weather to help you decide.

It's raining, it's pouring
The Rainbow, by Christina Rossetti
The Wind, by Christina Rossetti
Whether the weather
Windy Nights, by Robert Louis Stevenson
The Sun's Travels, by Robert Louis Stevenson
Rain in Summer, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Our favourite weather is a thunderstorm! Can you hear the thunder in this collection?

Download this audio collection of Weather Poems on mp3 now!

Weather Poems

A Tales of Time Collection

It's raining, it's pouring;

It's raining, it's pouring;
The old man is snoring.
Bumped his head
And he went to bed
And he couldn't get up in the morning.

The Rainbow

Christina Rossetti

Boats sail on the rivers,
And ships sail on the seas;
But clouds that sail across the sky
Are prettier than these.
There are bridges on the rivers,
As pretty as you please;
But the bow that bridges heaven,
And overtops the trees,
And builds a road from earth to sky,
Is prettier far than these.

The Wind

Christina Rossetti

Who has seen the wind? 
Neither I nor you. 
But when the leaves hang trembling, 
The wind is passing through. 
Who has seen the wind? 
Neither you nor I. 
But when the trees bow down their heads, 
The wind is passing by.

Whether the weather

Whether the weather be fine,
Or whether the weather be not,
Whether the weather be cold,
Or whether the weather be hot,
We'll weather the weather
Whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not!

Windy nights

Robert Louis Stevenson

Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.

The Sun's Travels

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.

Rain in Summer

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

How beautiful is the rain! 
After the dust and heat, 
In the broad and fiery street, 
In the narrow lane, 
How beautiful is the rain!
How it clatters along the roofs, 
Like the tramp of hoofs 
How it gushes and struggles out 
From the throat of the overflowing spout!
Across the window-pane 
It pours and pours; 
And swift and wide, 
With a muddy tide, 
Like a river down the gutter roars 
The rain, the welcome rain!

The End.