Poems begining by T

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The Spirea

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

OF all the subtle fires of earth
Which rise in form of spring-time flowers,
Oh, say if aught of purer birth
Is nursed by suns and showers

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The Puzzle is no Puzzle

© James Merrill

A card table in the library stands ready

To receive the puzzle which keeps never coming.

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The Rabbit Catcher

© Sylvia Plath

It was a place of force—
The wind gagging my mouth with my own blown hair,
Tearing off my voice, and the sea
Blinding me with its lights, the lives of the dead
Unreeling in it, spreading like oil.

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To The Memory Of Raisley Calvert

© William Wordsworth

CALVERT! it must not be unheard by them
Who may respect my name, that I to thee
Owed many years of early liberty.
This care was thine when sickness did condemn

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To Edgar Fawcett

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

ART thou some reckless poet, fiercely free,
Singing vague songs an errant brain inspires?
Mad with the ravening force of inward fires,
Whose floods o'erwhelm him like a masterless sea?

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The Invitation

© Edith Nesbit

DELIA, my dear, delightful Lady,
  Time flies in town, you say,
  New gowns shine fresh as May,
  The Park is glad and gay,
Ah--but the woods are green and shady--
  Come, Delia, come away!

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The Doves

© William Cowper

Reasoning at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things whom instinct leads
Are rarely known to stray.

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The Redbird

© Madison Julius Cawein

He flies with flirt and fluting-
As flies a crimson star
From flaming star-beds shooting-
From where the roses are.

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The River

© Sara Teasdale

I came from the sunny valleys
And sought for the open sea,
For I thought in its gray expanses
My peace would come to me.

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The God Of The Wood

© Bliss William Carman

HERE all the forces of the wood
As one converge,
To make the soul of solitude
Where all things merge.

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The Unloved

© Arthur Symons

These are the women whom no man has loved.

Year after year, day after day has moved

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The City's Oldest Known Survivor of the Great War by James Doyle: American Life in Poetry #9 Ted Koo

© Ted Kooser

In eighteen lines—one long sentence—James Doyle evokes two settings: an actual parade and a remembered one. By dissolving time and contrasting the scenes, the poet helps us recognize the power of memory and the subtle ways it can move us.

The City's Oldest Known Survivor of the Great War

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To Sleep

© William Wordsworth

FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!
And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;
The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames,
When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!

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The Deeds Of Anger

© Edgar Albert Guest

I used to lose my temper an' git mad an' tear around
An' raise my voice so wimmin folks would tremble at the sound;
I'd do things I was ashamed of when the fit of rage had passed,
An' wish I hadn't done 'em, an' regret 'em to the last;
But I've learned from sad experience how useless is regret,
For the mean things done in anger are the things you can't forget.

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Tale XIV

© George Crabbe

dwell,
While he was acting (he would call it) well;
He bought as others buy, he sold as others sell;
There was no fraud, and he demanded cause
Why he was troubled when he kept the laws?"
  "My laws!" said Conscience.  "What," said he, "

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The Raven And The King's Daughter

© William Morris

King’s daughter sitting in tower so high,
Fair summer is on many a shield.
Why weepest thou as the clouds go by?
Fair sing the swans ’twixt firth and field.
Why weepest thou in the window-seat
Till the tears run through thy fingers sweet?

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The Bridal Ballad

© Edgar Allan Poe

The ring is on my hand,
  And the wreath is on my brow;
  Satin and jewels grand
  Are all at my command,
  And I am happy now.

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The Submarine That Sank The "Lusitania"

© Katharine Lee Bates

SPINDRIFT white shall her victims stand
On the ivory quay, untrod
By living feet, when she nears Ghoststrand,
To point her out to God.

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The Lute-Player

© William Watson

She was a lady great and splendid,
 I was a minstrel in her halls.
A warrior like a prince attended
 Stayed his steed by the castle walls.

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To His Fairest Valentine Mrs. A. L.

© Richard Lovelace

"Come, pretty birds, present your lays,
  And learn to chaunt a goddess praise;
  Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be
  Employ'd to serve her deity:
  And warble forth, ye virgins nine,
  Some music to my Valentine.