Poems begining by T
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The Visions Of Petrarch
© Edmund Spenser
Being one day at my window all alone,
So manie strange things happened me to see,
To My Bones
© Zbigniew Herbert
In my sleep it rips through
my meagre skin
throws off the red bandage of the flesh
and goes strolling through the room
my monument a little incomplete
The Woodmans Daughter
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
In Gerald's Cottage by the hill,
Old Gerald and his child,
The Given Heart
© Abraham Cowley
I wonder what those lovers mean, who say
They have giv'n their hearts away.
Some good kind lover tell me how;
For mine is but a torment to me now.
The Sycophantic Fox And The Gullible Raven
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
A raven sat upon a tree,
And not a word he spoke, for
His beak contained a piece of Brie.
Or, maybe it was Roquefort.
We'll make it any kind you please -
At all events it was a cheese.
To A Lady Playing The Cithern
© James Russell Lowell
So dreamy-soft the notes, so far away
They seem to fall, the horns of Oberon
The Roman Rose-Seller
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Not from Paestum come my roses; Patrons, see
My flowers are Roman-blown; their nectaries
The Hills Of Youth
© Alfred Noyes
Once, on the far blue hills,
Alone with the pine and the cloud, in those high still places;
The Voice Calling
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
IN the hush of April weather,
With the bees in budding heather,
And the white clouds floating, floating, and the sunshine falling broad;
While my children down the hill
Run and leap, and I sit still,--
Through the silence, through the silence art Thou calling, O my God?
The Dunciad: Book I.
© Alexander Pope
The Mighty Mother, and her son who brings
The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings,
To An Absentee
© Thomas Hood
O'er hill, and dale, and distant sea,
Through all the miles that stretch between,
My thought must fly to rest on thee,
And would, though worlds should intervene.
To K.B.
© Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
You're here again - and of a sudden
A warmth long gone floods my dead heart,
And all I thought forgot, unbidden
Returns, of me becomes a part.
The Two Poets
© Henry Lawson
Two poets were born where the skies were fair,
To live in the land thereafter;
And one was a singer of sorrow and care,
And one was a bard of laughter.
The Sun Cup
© Archibald Lampman
The earth is the cup of the sun,
That he filleth at morning with wine,
With the warm, strong wine of his might
From the vintage of gold and of light,
Fills it, and makes it divine.
To Philip Bourke Marston, Inciting Me To Poetic Work
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
SWEET Poet, thou of whom these years that roll
Must one day yet the burdened birthright learn,
The Voice
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
There is a voice inside of you
that whispers all day long,
"I feel that this is right for me,
I know that this is wrong."
The Sixth Olympic Ode Of Pindar
© Henry James Pye
A sudden thought I raptur'd feel,
Which, as the whetstone points the steel,
Brightens my sense, and bids me warbling raise
To the soft-breathing flute, the kindred notes of praise.
"To cure wounds is so rigid"
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
To cure wounds is so rigid:
They drank the air and poisoned bread.
Young Joseph who was sold to Egypt
Could not be more deathly sad!
