Poems begining by T
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The Old Man's Complaints. And how he gained them
© Robert Southey
You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are grey;You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason I pray.
'Twas the Second Day before Christmas
© Souster Raymond
While they last all manger accessoriesmarked drastically down --
To the Canadian Poets, 1940
© Souster Raymond
Come, my little eunuchs, my tender virgins,it's high time you were home and in bed.The wind's cold and strong in the streets now,and it's almost ten o'clock.
To Anthea
© Arthur James Marshall Smith
When I no more shall feel the sun, Nor taste the salt brine on my lips; When one to me are stinging whipsAnd rose leaves falling one by one;
The Lonely Land
© Arthur James Marshall Smith
Cedar and jagged firuplift sharp barbsagainst the grayand clouded-piled sky;and in the bayblown spume and windriftand thin, bitter spraysnapat the whirling sky;and the pine treeslean one way.
The Archer
© Arthur James Marshall Smith
Bend back thy bow, O Archer, till the stringIs level with thine ear, thy body taut,Its nature art, thyself thy statue wroughtOf marble blood, thy weapon the poised wingOf coiled and aquiline Fate
The Sniper
© Skeyhill Tom
I've seen the champions of the land, Shootin' out at Bisley,The Canadian back-woodsman Slay the roarin' Grizzly;I've seen the Monte Carlo sport Baggin' pigeons by the score,The crack shot on the stage, too, With his thousand tricks or more
The Backsheesh Sergeant
© Skeyhill Tom
'E's a sneakin' smoogin' blighter, an' 'e'll never make a fighter, Unless it's 'gainst a wounded chap like me;'E's a cringin', crawlin' 'ound, an' a coward, I'll be bound,An' I don't know why 'e crossed the bloomin' sea
The Wish of the Weary Woman
© Sigourney Lydia Huntley
A form there was, still spared by timeTill the slow century fill'd its prime;Stretch'd on its bed, with half-closed eyeIt mark'd uncertain shades flit by;Nor scarce the varied world of soundTo the seal'd ear admittance found;While the worn brow, in wrinkles dark,Seem'd like the gnarl'd oak's roughen'd bark
Trouv?e
© Elizabeth Bishop
Oh, why should a hen
have been run over
on West 4th Street
in the middle of summer?
This is the house of Bedlam
© Elizabeth Bishop
This is the time
of the tragic man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
The LORD Is My Shepherd
© The Bible
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
