Poems begining by T
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The Mother's Funeral
© George Crabbe
The elder sister strove her pangs to hide,
And soothing words to younger minds applied:
"Be still, be patient;" oft she strove to say,
But fail'd as oft, and weeping turn'd away.
The Child
© Sara Coleridge
See yon blithe child that dances in our sight!
Can gloomy shadows fall from one so bright?
Fond mother, whence these fears?
While buoyantly he rushes o'er the lawn,
Dream not of clouds to stain his manhood's dawn,
Nor dim that sight with tears.
The Witch
© Madison Julius Cawein
She gropes and hobbies, where the dropsied rocks
Are hairy with the lichens and the twist
The Cure
© Edgar Albert Guest
When you can't get her out of your head, young man,
And you hate what you have to do;
The Grave Of A Poetess
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
I stood beside thy lowly grave;
Spring-odours breath'd around,
And music, in the river-wave,
Pass'd with a lulling sound.
The Mariner
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
The violet scent is sacred
Like dreams of angels bright;
The hawthorn smells of passion
Told in a moonless night.
The Parting Soul And Her Guardian Angel
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Soul
Oh! say must I leave this world of light
With its sparkling streams and sunshine bright,
Its budding flowers, its glorious sky?
Vain tis to ask meI cannot die!
The Head Of Bran The Blest
© George Meredith
When the Head of Bran
Was firm on British shoulders,
God made a man!
Cried all beholders.
The First Leaf Of Spring
© Charles Lamb
WRITTEN ON THE FIRST LEAF OF A LADY'S ALBUM.
Thou fragile, filmy, gossamery thing,
To The Nile
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Month after month the gathered rains descend
Drenching yon secret Aethiopian dells,
And from the deserts ice-girt pinnacles
Where Frost and Heat in strange embraces blend
The Influence Of Lust
© Leon Gellert
With padded feet from out his own dark den
Comes smiling Lust, once fair and hard to
please,
But now long overworked with dabbling men,
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto VIII.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III The Kiss
I saw you take his kiss! 'Tis true.
O, modesty! 'Twas strictly kept:
He thought me asleep; at least, I knew
He thought I thought he thought I slept.
The Sylphs Of The Seasons
© Washington Allston
Long has it been my fate to hear
The slave of Mammon, with a sneer,
The Waster Singing at Midnight
© Robert Fuller Murray
Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon
For his personal diversion,
Sang the chorus U-pi-dee,
Sang about the Barley Bree.
The Furrow And The Hearth
© Padraic Colum
Below in the darkness
The slumber of mothers,
The cradles at rest,
The fire-seed sleeping
Deep in white ashes!
The Tracks That Lie By India
© Henry Lawson
The track that runs by India goes up the hot Red Sea
The other side of Africa is far too dull for me.
(I fear that I have missed a chance Ill never get again
To see the land of chivalry and bide awhile in Spain.)
Ill graft a year in London, and if fortune smiles on me
Ill take the track to India by France and Italy.
The Home-Going
© James Whitcomb Riley
We must get home--for we have been away
So long it seems forever and a day!
And O so very homesick we have grown,
The laughter of the world is like a moan
In our tired hearing, and its songs as vain,--
We must get home--we must get home again!
The Ring And The Book - Chapter I - The Ring And The Book
© Robert Browning
DO you see this Ring?
Tis Rome-work, made to match
