Poems begining by T
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The Stalling Of Q.H.F.
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Horace: Episode 14
"Mollis inertia cur tantam diffuderit imis"
The Science Club
© Robert Fuller Murray
Hurrah for the Science Club!
Join it, ye fourth year men;
Join it, thou smooth-cheeked scrub,
Whose years scarce number ten
The Convert's Love
© Thomas Parnell
Blessed Light of saints on high
Who fill the mansions of the sky,
Sure defence, whose mercy still
Preserves thy subjects here from ill,
O my Jesus! make me know
How to pay the thanks I owe.
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 11:
© Conrad Aiken
What shall we talk of? Li Po? Hokusai?
You narrow your long dark eyes to fascinate me;
You smile a little. . . .Outside, the night goes by.
I walk alone in a forest of ghostly trees . . .
Your pale hands rest palm downwards on your knees.
The Nobler Lover
© James Russell Lowell
If he be a nobler lover, take him!
You in you I seek, and not myself;
The Ring And The Book - Chapter XII - The Book And The Ring
© Robert Browning
HERE were the end, had anything an end:
Thus, lit and launched, up and up roared and soared
The Suicide
© Louis MacNeice
And this, ladies and gentlemen, whom I am not in fact
Conducting, was his office all those minutes ago,
The People, Yes
© Carl Sandburg
"I have not willingly planted a thorn
in any man's bosom."
I shall do nothing through malice: what
I deal with is too vast for malice."
The Passer-By
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
WE are as children in a field at play
Beside a road whose way we do not know,
Save that somewhere it meets the end of day.
Traditionary Version
© Andrew Lang
As I came in by Dunidier,
An doun by Netherha,
There was fifty thousand Hielanmen
A marching to Harlaw.
(Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.
The Touch
© Renee Vivien
The trees have kept some lingering sun in their branches,
Veiled like a woman, evoking another time,
The twilight passes, weeping. My fingers climb,
Trembling, provocative, the line of your haunches.
The End Of It
© Francis Thompson
She did not love to love; but hated him
For making her to love, and so her whim
The Last Irish Grievance
© William Makepeace Thackeray
As I think of the insult that's done to this nation,
Red tears of rivinge from me fatures I wash,
And uphold in this pome, to the world's daytistation,
The sleeves that appointed PROFESSOR M'COSH.
The Shepherds Calendar - July
© John Clare
Daughter of pastoral smells and sights
And sultry days and dewy nights
July resumes her yearly place
Wi her milking maiden face
To My Friend - Ode II
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THOU go'st! I murmur-
Go! let me murmur.
Oh, worthy man,
Fly from this land!
The Brumbies
© William Henry Ogilvie
There are steeds upon many a Western plain
That have never bowed to a bit or rein,
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXVIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION
Why should I hate you, love, or why despise
For that last proof of tenderness you gave?
The battle is not always to the brave,
The Bird's Release
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Go forth, for she is gone!
With the golden light of her wavy hair,
She is gone to the fields of the viewless air;
She hath left her dwelling lone!
