Poems begining by T
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The Erotic Civilization
© Moritz Albert Frank
The infinite erotic civilization we createdis declining now. Breast and penis wag in publicas in primitive times, when nothing was erotic but the gods,
Town Eclogues: Wednesday; The Tête à Tête
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
DANCINDA. " NO, fair DANCINDA, no ; you strive in vain" To calm my care and mitigate my pain ;" If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move," Ah ! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love."
The Dean’s Provocation for Writing the Dressing-Room
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
The Doctor, in a clean starch'd band,His golden snuff box in his hand,With care his diamond ring displays,And artful shows its various Rays;While grave he stalks down -- StreetHis dearest -- to meet
The Virgin
© Harold Monro
Arms that have never held me; lips of himWho should have been for me; hair most beloved,I would have smoothed so gently; steadfast eyes,Half-closed, yet gazing at me through the dusk;And hands
The Earth for Sale
© Harold Monro
How perilous life will become on earthWhen the great breed of man has covered all
There was was a girl of Lahore
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
There once was a girl of Lahore,The same shape behind as before; As no one knew where To offer a chair,She had to sit down on the floor.
There was a young lady named Laura
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
There was a young lady named Laura,Who went to the wilds of Angora, She came back on a goat With a beautiful coat,And notes of the fauna and flora.
There once was an old monk of Basing
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
There once was an old monk of Basing,Whose salads were something amazing; But he told his confessor That NebuchadnezzarHad given him hints upon grazing.
There once was an old man of Lyme
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
There once was an old man of LymeWho married three wives at a time, When asked, "Why a third?" He replied, "One's absurd!And bigamy, sir, is a crime.
The Inquest
© Money-Coutts Francis Burdett
Not labour kills us; no, nor joy: The incredulity and frown,The interference and annoy, The small attritions wear us down.
The Whiffenpoof Song
© Minnigerode Meade
To the tables down at Mory's,To the place where Louis dwells,To the dear old Temple Bar we love so well,Sing the Whiffenpoofs assembled
To Teach thy Base Thoughts Manners
© Middleton Thomas
To teach thy base thoughts manners: th'art one of thoseThat thinks each woman thy fond flexible whoreIf she but cast a liberal eye upon thee;Turn back her head, she's thine; or amongst company,By chance drink first to thee, then she's quite gone,There's no means to help her; nay, for a need,Wilt swear unto thy credulous fellow lechersThat th'art more in favour with a lady at first sightThan her monkey all her life time
There's Nae Luck about the House
© William Mickle
And are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he's weel?Is this a time to think o' wark? Mak haste, lay by your wheel;Is this the time to spin a thread When Colin's at the door?Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay And see him come ashore
The Ferry to South Baymouth
© Meyer Bruce
My daughter's eyes are blue as Georgian Bayand sparkle with the glint of tiny starsthat define each wave on a summer's day;
Tom Deadlight (1810)
© Herman Melville
During a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the Mediterranean, a grizzled petty-officer, one of the two captains of the forecastle, dying at night in his hammock, swung in the sick-bay under the tiered gun-decks of the British Dreadnought, 98, wandering in his mind, though with glimpses of sanity, and starting up at whiles, sings by snatches his good-bye and last injunctions to two messmates, his watchers, one of whom fans the fevered tar with the flap of his old sou'-wester
The Portent (1859)
© Herman Melville
Hanging from the beam, Slowly swaying (such the law),Gaunt the shadow on your green, Shenandoah!The cut is on the crown (Lo, John Brown),And the stabs shall heal no more.
The March into Virginia Ending in the First Manassas (July, 1861)
© Herman Melville
Did all the lets and bars appear To every just or larger end,Whence should come the trust and cheer? Youth must its ignorant impulse lend --Age finds place in the rear
