Poems begining by T
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The Jubilee Singers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
VOICE of a people suffering long,
The pathos of their mournful song,
The sorrow of their night of wrong!
Their cry like that which Israel gave,
To Myself
© Kenneth Slessor
AFTER all, you are my rather tedious hero;
It is impossible (damn it!) to avoid
Looking at you through keyholes.
But come! At least you might try to be
The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire
© Jean Ingelow
(1571.)
The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Finale
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
That even as the tale was done
Burst from its canopy of cloud,
And lit the landscape with the blaze
Of afternoon on autumn days,
And filled the room with light, and made
The fire of logs a painted shade.
The Song of the Mad Prince
© Walter de la Mare
WHO said, " Peacock Pie " ?
The old King to the sparrow :
Who said, " Crops are ripe " ?
Rust to the harrow :
Who said, " Where sleeps she now ?
The Two desires
© Robert Laurence Binyon
What is the spirit's desire,
Sprung, springing, singing,
Fountain--fresh, rainbowed over with lights that awaken
The inner dishevelled crystal, starrily shaken
Times Changes In A Household
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
They were as fair and bright a band as ever filled with pride
Parental hearts whose task it was children beloved to guide;
And every care that love upon its idols bright may shower
Was lavished with impartial hand upon each fair young flower.
The Lyre Of Anacreon
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THE minstrel of the classic lay
Of love and wine who sings
Still found the fingers run astray
That touched the rebel strings.
The Men And Women, And The Monkeys
© Charles Lamb
When beasts by words their meanings could declare,
Some well-dressed men and women did repair
To gaze upon two monkeys at a fair:
They Who Prepare My Evening Meal
© Henry David Thoreau
They who prepare my evening meal below
Carelessly hit the kettle as they go
With tongs or shovel,
And ringing round and round,
Out of this hovel
It makes an eastern temple by the sound.
To My Native Land
© Jens Baggesen
Thou spot of earth, where from the breast of woe
My eye first rose, and in the purple glow
Of morning, and the dewy smile of love,
Marked the first gloamings of the Power above:
Titmarshs Carmen Lilliense
© William Makepeace Thackeray
My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no money, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.
Tale XXI
© George Crabbe
rise;
Not there the wise alone their entrance find,
Imparting useful light to mortals blind;
But, blind themselves, these erring guides hold out
Alluring lights to lead us far about;
Screen'd by such means, here Scandal whets her
The man whose riches satisfy his greed
© Solon
The man whose riches satisfy his greed
Is not more rich for all those heaps and hoards
Than some poor man who has enough to feed
And clothe his corpse with such as God affords.
The Zucca
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
VII.
The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth
Had crushed it on her maternal breast
The Fugitive Ideal
© William Watson
As some most pure and noble face,
Seen in the thronged and hurrying street,
Sheds o'er the world a sudden grace,
A flying odour sweet,
Then, passing, leaves the cheated sense
Baulked with a phantom excellence;
