Poems begining by T
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The Meadow Brook
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
GURGLE, gurgle, gurgle,
Over ledge and stone;
How I'm going, flowing,
Westward, all alone;
The Broken Drum
© Edgar Albert Guest
There is sorrow in the household;
There's a grief too hard to bear;
The Last Ode
© Rudyard Kipling
As watchers couched beneath a Bantine oak,
Hearing the dawn-wind stir,
Know that the present strength of night is broke
Though no dawn threaten her
Till dawn's appointed hour-so Virgil died,
Aware of change at hand, and prophesied
The Pressed Gentian
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The time of gifts has come again,
And, on my northern window-pane,
Outlined against the day's brief light,
A Christmas token hangs in sight.
To Lucasta Ode Lyrick
© Richard Lovelace
I.
Ah LUCASTA, why so bright?
Spread with early streaked light!
If still vailed from our sight,
What is't but eternall night?
To Dr. Thomas Shearer
© Sidney Lanier
Since you, rare friend! have tied my living tongue
With thanks more large than man e'er said or sung,
So let the dumbness of this image be
My eloquence, and still interpret me.
The Wheel Routs
© William Barnes
'Tis true I brought noo fortune hwome
Wi' Jenny, vor her honey-moon,
But still a goodish hansel come
Behind her perty soon,
Vor stick, an' dish, an' spoon, all vell
To Jeäne, vrom Aunt o' Camwy dell.
The Dream of Those Days
© Thomas Moore
The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o'er
Thy triumph hath stain'd the charm thy sorrows then wore;
And even the light which Hope once shed o'er thy chains,
Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains.
The Oak And Its Branches.
© Mary Barber
An Oak, with spreading Branches crown'd,
Beheld an Ivy on the Ground,
Expos'd to ev'ry trampling Beast,
That roam'd around the dreary Waste.
The Judgment Of Paris
© James Beattie
Far in the depth of Ida's inmost grove,
A scene for love and solitude design'd;
Where flowery woodbines wild, by Nature wove,
Form'd the lone bower, the royal swain reclined.
The White Comrade
© Robert Haven Schauffler
Under our curtain of fire,
Over the clotted clods,
We charged, to be withered, to reel
And despairingly wheel
When the bugles bade us retire
From the terrible odds.
The Moth-Signal (On Egdon Heath)
© Thomas Hardy
'What are you still, still thinking,
He asked in vague surmise,
'That you stare at the wick unblinking
With those great lost luminous eyes?'
The Sweetest Soul I Ever Knew
© Edgar Albert Guest
The sweetest soul I ever knew
I Had suffered untold sorrow,
The Mind of the Frontispeece and Argument of this Worke
© George Sandys
FIRE, AIRE, EARTH, WATER, all the Opposites
That stroue in Chaos, powrefull LOVE vnites;
To A Gentlewoman, Objecting To Him His Gray Hair
© Robert Herrick
Am I despised, because you say;
And I dare swear, that I am gray?
The Ballad Of The Oysterman
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
IT was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side,
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;
The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,
Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.
The Black Knight
© Madison Julius Cawein
I had not found the road too short,
As once I had in days of youth,
