Poems begining by T
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The Borough. Letter XVII: The Hospital And
© George Crabbe
Govenors
AN ardent spirit dwells with Christian love,
The Railway Station
© Archibald Lampman
The darkness brings no quiet here, the light
No waking: ever on my blinded brain
The Rose And The Bee
© Sara Teasdale
IF I were a bee and you were a rose,
Would you let me in when the gray wind blows?
Would you hold your petals wide apart,
Would you let me in to find your heart,
If you were a rose?
To The Queen
© Alfred Tennyson
O loyal to the royal in thyself,
And loyal to thy land, as this to thee-
To A Cape Ann Schooner
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Luck to the craft that bears this name of mine,
Good fortune follow with her golden spoon
The Song Of Hiawatha IX: Hiawatha And The Pearl-Feather
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
On the shores of Gitche Gumee,
Of the shining Big-Sea-Water,
The Parting.
© Adelaide Crapsey
Was it love breathed on us as on the skies
Dawn breathes for a short space and then is fled;
The Old Guard
© Arthur Rimbaud
To the emperor's peasants!
To the peasants' emperor!
To the sons of mars,
to the glorious 18 March!
When heaven blessed
the guts of Eugene!
The Silver Box
© Alice Guerin Crist
Old tales of valour fire our blood
But this, the bravest deed I know
Is written of our modern times,
No myth of long ago.
The Weaver
© Archibald Lampman
All day, all day, round the clacking net
The weaver's fingers fly:
Gray dreams like frozen mists are set
In the hush of the weaver's eye;
A voice from the dusk is calling yet,
"Oh, come away, or we die!"
The Stranger's Song
© Thomas Hardy
O My trade it is the rarest one,
Simple shepherds all-
My trade is a sight to see;
For my customers I tie, and take 'em up on high,
And waft 'em to a far countree!
The Deserted Plantation
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
OH, de grubbin'-hoe's a-rustin' in de co'nah,
An' de plow's a-tumblin' down in de fiel',
The Captiv'd Bee; Or, The Little Filcher
© Robert Herrick
As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay,
It chanced a bee did fly that way,
To-Morrow
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
The children out on the common,
They answer her dreary call,
And say, "He will come to-morrow!"
Who never will come at all.
The Garden of Shadow
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.
The Hive At Gettysburg
© John Greenleaf Whittier
IN the old Hebrew myth the lion's frame,
So terrible alive,
Bleached by the desert's sun and wind, became
The wandering wild bees' hive;
The Dean Of Santiago
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
The Dean of Santiago on his mule
Rode quick the Guadalquivir banks along,
The Southern Press
© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
When a Negro comes in question you may watch the Southern press,
See how bias its opinions, how his ills are given stress,
Prominence is given headlines, when accused he is of crime,
Emphasizes all the evils of the Negro ev'ry time.
