Poems begining by T
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The Dream Of A Girl Who Lived At Seven-Oaks
© William Brighty Rands
Seven sweet singing birds up in a tree;
Seven swift sailing ships white upon the sea;
The Three Witnesses
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Musing I met, in no strange land,
What meet thou must to understand:
The Evanescent Beautiful
© Madison Julius Cawein
Day after Day, young with eternal beauty,
Pays flowery duty to the month and clime;
Night after night erects a vasty portal
Of stars immortal for the march of Time.
To A Friend Who Sent Me A Box Of Violets
© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Nay, more than violets
These thoughts of thine, friend!
The Storm Cone
© Rudyard Kipling
This is the midnight-let no star
Delude us-dawn is very far.
This is the tempest long foretold-
Slow to make head but sure to hold
The Witch's Daughter
© John Greenleaf Whittier
It was the pleasant harvest time,
When cellar-bins are closely stowed,
And garrets bend beneath their load,
The Hwomestead A-Vell Into Hand
© William Barnes
The house where I wer born an' bred,
Did own his woaken door, John,
The Woman Who Came Behind Him In The Crowd
© George MacDonald
Near him she stole, rank after rank;
She feared approach too loud;
She touched his garment's hem, and shrank
Back in the sheltering crowd.
The Coming Of The Ship Chapter I
© Khalil Gibran
Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward,
Then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers.
And you, vast sea, sleepless mother,
Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream,
Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade,
And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
The Garden Of Saint Rose
© Bliss William Carman
THIS is a holy refuge,
The garden of Saint Rose,
A fragrant altar to that peace
The world no longer knows.
The Two Women
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Lo! very fair is she who knows the ways
Of joy: in pleasure's mocking wisdom old,
The eyes that might be cold to flattery, kind;
The hair that might be grey with knowledge, gold.
The Education of a Poet by Leslie Monsour: American Life in Poetry #61 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureat
© Ted Kooser
Everywhere I travel I meet people who want to write poetry but worry that what they write won't be "any good." No one can judge the worth of a poem before it's been written, and setting high standards for yourself can keep you from writing. And if you don't write you'll miss out on the pleasure of making something from words, of seeing your thoughts on a page. Here Leslie Monsour offers a concise snapshot of a self-censoring poet.
The Song of Tigilau
© Marcus Clarke
The song of Tigilau the brave,
Sina's wild lover,
Who across the heaving wave
From Samoa came over:
Came over, Sina, at the setting moon!
The Banner Of The Covenanters
© Caroline Norton
I.
HERE, where the rain-drops may not fall, the sunshine doth not play,
Where the unfelt and distant breeze in whispers dies away;
Here, where the stranger paces slow along the silent halls,
"Today when you went up the hill"
© Lesbia Harford
Today when you went up the hill
And all that I could see
Was just a speck of black and white
Very far from me,
