Poems begining by T
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The Dead. (From The German Of Stockmann)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How they so softly rest,
All they the holy ones,
Tidings
© Lola Ridge
Censored lies that mimic truth…
Censored truth as pale as fear…
My heart is like a rousing bell -
And but the dead to hear…
The Laplander To His Rein-Deer
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
HOW long, oh, my faithful companion and guide!
Thou hast wafted o'er deserts my car!
How oft, oh, my rein-deer! thy speed has been tried,
O'er mountains unknown and afar!
The Birds Of Passage
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing!
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
–"We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
From the palms that wave thro' the Indian sky,
From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby.
The Lost House
© George MacDonald
Out of thy door I run to do the thing
That calls upon me. Straight the wind of words
Whoops from mine ears the sounds of them that sing
About their work, "My God, my father-king!"
Tom Johnson's Quit
© James Whitcomb Riley
A passel o' the boys last night--
An' me amongst 'em--kindo got
The Two Friends
© Carolyn Wells
A Spider and a Centipede went out to take a walk;
The Centipede said frankly, "I will listen while you talk,
But I may appear distracted, or assume a vacant stare,
Because to keep my feet in step requires my constant care."
The Mallee Fire
© Charles Henry Souter
I SUPPOSE it just depends on where youre raised,
Once I met a cove as swore by green belar!
The Green-Hand Rouseabout
© Henry Lawson
Breakfast, curried rice and mutton till your innards sacrifice,
And you sicken at the colour and the smell of curried rice.
All day long with living muttonbits and belly-wool and fleece;
Blinded by the yoke of wool, and shirt and trousers stiff with grease,
Till you long for sight of verdure, cabbage-plots and water clear,
And you crave for beef and butter as a boozer craves for beer.
The Virgin
© William Wordsworth
. Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
With the least shade of thought to sin allied.
The Squatter of the Olden Time
© Anonymous
I'll sing to you a fine new song, made by my blessed mate,
Of a fine Australian squatter who had a fine estate,
Who swore by right pre-emptive at a sanguinary rate
That by his rams, his ewes, his lambs, Australia was made great -
Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.
The Blind Mans Bride
© Caroline Norton
I.
WHEN first, beloved, in vanish'd hours
The blind man sought thy love to gain,
They said thy cheek was bright as flowers
The Reprisall
© George Herbert
I have consider'd it, and finde
There is no dealing with Thy mighty passion:
For though I die for thee, I am behinde;
My sinnes deserve the condemnation.
The Fireside
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
I have tasted all life's pleasures, I have snatched at all its joys,
The dance's merry measures and the revel's festive noise;
Though wit flashed bright the live-long night, and flowed the ruby tide,
I sighed for thee, I sighed for thee, my own fireside!
The Indications
© Walt Whitman
The singers do not beget-only the POET begets;
The singers are welcom'd, understood, appear often enough-but rare
has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the maker
of poems, the Answerer,
The Southern Cross.
© James Brunton Stephens
(A FRUSTRATION.)
FOUR stars on Night's brow, or Night's bosom,
