Poems begining by T
/ page 160 of 916 /
The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The Third Book
© Robert Southey
The Maiden, musing on the Warrior's words,
Turn'd from the Hall of Glory. Now they reach'd
The Grief Of Love
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Love, I am sick for thee, sick with an absolute grief,
Sick with the thought of thy eyes and lips and bosom.
All the beauty I saw, I see to my hurt revealed.
All that I felt I feel to--day for my pain and sorrow.
To Ianthe
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake;
Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek,
Thy tender frame, so eloquently weak,
Love in the sternest heart of hate might wake;
The Two Voices
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Anon, another speaks, a voice of care
With sorrow laden and akin to grief,
``My son,'' it saith, ``What is my will with thee?
The burden of my sorrows thou shalt share.
With thieves thou too shalt be accounted thief,
And in my kingdom thou shalt sup with me.''
The Old Sergeant
© Forceythe Willson
COME a little nearer, Doctor,thank you,let me take the cup:
Draw your chair up,draw it closer,just another little sup!
May be you may think I m better; but I m pretty well used up:
Doctor, youve done all you could do, but I m just a going up!
The Moral Warfare
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WHEN Freedom, on her natal day,
Within her war-rocked cradle lay,
An iron race around her stood,
Baptized her infant brow in blood;
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XIX
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
HE PROTESTS, NOTWITHSTANDING, HIS LOVE
To be cast forth from the fair light of heaven
Into the outer darkness and there lie,
Through unrecorded years of agony,
The Chartre Of Pardon.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Ihesu, kyng of hie heuen a-bove, Vnto Michael my chief lieu-tenaunt,
And alle thin ássessourës wich I love,That in my seruice be perséueraunthave euermore, and to me ful pleasaunt My gretyng;and, upon the peyne of dreed,Vnto this present chartre take[th] heed.
The Friend Of Humanity, And The Knife-Grinder
© John Hookham Frere
"Needy Knife-grinder! whether are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order-
Bleak blows the Blast;-your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!
Twin-Born
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
He who possesses virtue at its best,
Or greatness in the true sense of the word,
Has one day started even with that herd
Whose swift feet now speed but at sin's behest.
The Trees
© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
I know: to the trees, but not to us,
Perfection of the life is given, whole.
And on the Earth the sister of the stars
We live in exile, while they do at home.
Two Poems To Harriet Beecher Stowe
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
ON HER SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY, JUNE 14, 1882
The Sea Hounds
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
"There's a hound at the door, Shawn O'Farrell,
There's a hound at the door.
If you take down the bar or the shutter,
I shall see you no more,
I shall see you no more!"
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXXII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
EXHORTING HER TO PATIENCE
Why do we fret at the inconstancy
Of our frail hearts, which cannot always love?
Time rushes onward, and we mortals move
The River
© Leon Gellert
Swift with the dawn she rises, quick and cold,
Rattling the pebbles with her silver shoon,
Chasing a thousand fish of instant gold,
And racing into noon.
The Feast Of Freedom
© Victor Marie Hugo
When the Christians were doomed to the lions of old
By the priest and the praetor, combined to uphold
An idolatrous cause,
Forth they came while the vast Colosseum throughout
Gathered thousands looked on, and they fell 'mid the shout
Of "the People's" applause.
The Empty Purse--A Sermon To Our Later Prodigal Son
© George Meredith
Thy knowledge of women might be surpassed:
As any sad dog's of sweet flesh when he quits
The wayside wandering bone!
No revilings of comrades as ingrates: thee
The tempter, misleader, and criminal (screened
By laws yet barbarous) own.
Three Pictures
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I have seen many things in many lands,
And many sorrows known and many joys,
And clutched at pleasure's cup with lawless hands,
And drunk my fill of mirth and lust and noise,
Ticklish Tom
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Did you hear 'bout Ticklish Tom?
He got tickled by his mom.
Wiggled and giggled and fell on the floor,
