Poems begining by T
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The Snowing of the Pines
© Thomas Wentworth Higginson
Softer than silence, stiller than still air,
Float down from high pine boughs the slender leaves.
The Comforters
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
When I crept over the hill, broken with tears.
When I crouched down on the grass, dumb in despair,
I heard the soft croon of the wind bend to my ears,
I felt the light kiss of the wind touching my hair.
The Driftwood Gatherers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Along the deep shelve of the abandoned shore
Bowed, with slow pace and careful eyes that keep
The track they travel, move an aged pair.
The full voice of the Atlantic holds the air
The Watchman
© Charles Kingsley
'Watchman, what of the night?'
'The stars are out in the sky;
And the merry round moon will be rising soon,
For us to go sailing by.'
To Cardinal Richelieu. (From Malherbe)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thou mighty Prince of Church and State,
Richelieu! until the hour of death,
The Wife Of Flanders
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Low and brown barns, thatched and repatched and tattered,
Where I had seven sons until to-day,
A little hill of hay your spur has scattered. . . .
This is not Paris. You have lost your way.
The After-Echo
© Henry Van Dyke
How long the echoes love to play
Around the shore of silence, as a wave
The Conquerors Grave
© William Cullen Bryant
WITHIN this lowly grave a Conqueror lies,
And yet the monument proclaims it not,
The First Part: Sonnet 14 - Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,
© William Henry Drummond
Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,
Sebethus, nor the flood into whose streams
The Gentle Man
© William Carlos Williams
I feel the caress of my own fingers
on my own neck as I place my collar
and think pityingly
of the kind women I have known.
The Fool Of The World: A Morality
© Arthur Symons
THE MAN. THE WORM.
DEATH, as the Fool, YOUTH.
THE SPADE. MIDDLE AGE.
THE COFFIN. OLD AGE.
The Warrior's Return
© Amelia Opie
Sir Walter returned from the far Holy Land,
And a blood-tinctured falchion he bore;
But such precious blood as now darkened his sword
Had never distained it before.
The Dead Oread
© Madison Julius Cawein
Her heart is still and leaps no more
With holy passion when the breeze,
Her whilom playmate, as before,
Comes with the language of the bees,
Sad songs her mountain cedars sing,
And water-music murmuring.
To The River Avon
© Walter Savage Landor
Avon! why runnest thou away so fast?
Rest thee before that Chance! where repose
Texas Cowboy
© Karle Wilson Baker
From garden-beds I tend, it is not far
To those great ranges where he used to ride;
The Welcome Of The Women Of Braj
© Sant Surdas
'Tis morn, O Krishna, awake, all the pretty young milkmaids are calling for you; arise O Braj's prince, The sun is up in the sky, the moon pales, the tender tamala trees are in full bloom .
The women of Braj have stringed a garland of flowers of many kinds and wait to greet you. Arise dear child, wash your face and have your breakfast, O my heart's delight!
To The Silenced
© Georg Trakl
Oh, the great city's madness when at nightfall
The crippled trees gape by the blackened wall,
The spirit of evil peers from a silver mask;
Lights with magnetic scourge drive off the stony night.
Oh, the sunken pealing of evening bells.
To Clarissa
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Clarissa, when you passed me by
With scornful lip and haughty eye,
The Invigorating Dawn
© Sant Surdas
O darling boy,
dark as the tamala,
if you don't believe me,
open your large eyes
and see for yourself.
