Poems begining by T
/ page 171 of 916 /
The Pure Good of Theory
© Wallace Stevens
It is time that beats in the breast and it is time
That batters against the mind, silent and proud,
The mind that knows it is destroyed by time.
The Castle Ruins
© William Barnes
A HAPPY day at Whitsuntide,
As soon s the zun begun to vall,
We all strolld up the steep hill-zide
To Meldon, gret an small;
The Offering
© Robert Laurence Binyon
O love, in whose heart--murmured name
Is charm against life's endless wrong,
Since all the untuned world became
In you a song!
The Perfect Wave
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Dave McGunn was a surfin bum, halfcrazed by the blazin sun.
From Waikiki to the Bering Sea, he rode em one by one.
Now he hung offshore bout a mile or more, out where the dolphins played,
And his wild eyes gleamed as he schemed and dreamed
To ride the perfect wave.
The Eyes Of Youth
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Time buys no wisdom like the eyes of youth,
Though youth itself be blinded with delight,
As a buoyant swimmer by the bursting spray
Of the resplendent surge, and know not yet
The Fly In The Ointment
© Joseph Furphy
When the great Creator fashion'd us, and saw that we were good,
He commission'd us to dominate the planet as it stood.
But His ordinance meets denial still, and peace remains unknown,
For the Boer is always with us, calling certain lands his own.
The Borough. Letter XI: Inns
© George Crabbe
All the comforts of life in a Tavern are known,
'Tis his home who possesses not one of his own;
And to him who has rather too much of that one,
'Tis the house of a friend where he's welcome to
Things Work Out
© Edgar Albert Guest
Because it rains when we wish it wouldn't,
Because men do what they often shouldn't,
Because crops fail, and plans go wrong-
Some of us grumble all day long.
But somehow, in spite of the care and doubt,
It seems at last that things work out.
The Great Hereafter
© Otway Curry
Tis sweet to think when struggling
The goal of life to win,
That just beyond the shores of time
The better days begin.
To Others Than You
© Dylan Thomas
That though I loved them for their faults
As much as for their good,
My friends were enemies on stilts
With their heads in a cunning cloud.
The Schoolboy
© William Blake
I love to rise in a summer morn,
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the sky-lark sings with me.
O! what sweet company.
The Joy To Be
© Edgar Albert Guest
Oh, mother, be you brave of heart and keep
your bright eyes shining;
To Mr. Murray (For Oxford And For Waldegrave)
© George Gordon Byron
For Oxford and for Waldegrave
You give much more than me you gave;
Which is not fairly to behave,
My Murray.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: CI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
But thou didst come upon him ere he wist,
A silent highwayman, and take his all
And leave him naked, when the night should fall
The Hermit
© Thomas Parnell
Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a rev'rend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days,
Pray'r all his bus'ness, all his pleasure praise.
The Keepsake
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil,
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,
Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall
Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,
To Dr. Austin, Of Cecil Street, London
© William Cowper
Austin, accept a grateful verse from me,
The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee.
Loved by the Muses, thy ingenuous mind
Pleasing requital in my verse may find;
The Fields of France
© Katharine Tynan
JESUS CHRIST they chased away
Comes again another day.
Could they do without Him then
His poor lost unhappy men?
He returns and is revealed
In the trenches and the field.
The Fishing Cure
© Edgar Albert Guest
There's nothing that builds up a toil-weary soul
Like a day on a stream,
The Crisis
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
A man of low degree was sore oppressed,
Fate held him under iron-handed sway,
And ever, those who saw him thus distressed
Would bid him bend his stubborn will and pray.
But he, strong in himself and obdurate,
Waged, prayerless, on his losing fight with Fate.
