Poems begining by T
/ page 19 of 916 /
To a Kaffir Baby
© King Edith L. M.
Kaffir baby, Kaffir baby, Going to the kraal,Are you really comfortable Hanging in your shrawl?
Thunder at Night
© King Edith L. M.
Drop, drop, splash, splash, A vivid flashThat rends the dark asunder;
The Centipede
© King Edith L. M.
I've often watched you, centipede,And I can't think howeverYou manage those long rows of feet --You must be very clever.
The Pessimist
© Benjamin Franklin King
Nothing to do but work, Nothing to eat but food,Nothing to wear but clothes To keep one from going nude.
The Prisoner's Road
© Julius Stanley de Vere Alexander
There is a road where silence stalks,Where man, since his first dawn arose,Out as upon an ocean walksInto the desert, where who goesAs one of a long captive train,May share the thoughts of them that weptBy Babylonian waters, and againBow down in sorrow where they slept
The Poem of a Prisoner of War, 1917
© Julius Stanley de Vere Alexander
I have been one of the fortunate ones of the Earth,Having gazed upon Beauty and Truth all my days,And I had no need to think or to write concerning them,But when Beauty and Truth were withdrawn from meI found I could no longer live without them,But I was obliged to keep them ever by my side,I therefore wrote of them, and to write I thought of them,And by thinking kept them with me and they stayed
Two Poets
© Joussaye Marie
There lived a poet once, a famous bard, Whose muse, arrayed in robes of misty light,Soared high above the common herd of men
The Ninety and Nine
© Joussaye Marie
"There are Ninety and Nine who must live and die In hunger and want and cold,That one may revel in luxury, Enwrapped in its silken fold,And the one owns houses, and gold, and lands,But the Ninety and Nine have empty hands
The Honest Working Man
© Joussaye Marie
As through the world we take our way How oftentimes we hearThe praises sung of wealthy men, Of prince, and duke and peer
The Metamorphosed Gypsies
© Benjamin Jonson
The fairy beam upon you,The stars to glister on you; A moon of light In the noon of night,Till the fire-drake hath o'ergone you
The Little Ghosts
© Jones Jr. Thomas S.
Where are they gone, and do you know If they come back at fall o' dew,The little ghosts of long ago, That long ago were you?
The Song my Paddle Sings
© Emily Pauline Johnson
West wind, blow from your prairie nest,Blow from the mountains, blow from the westThe sail is idle, the sailor too ;O! wind of the west, we wait for you
The Pilot of the Plains
© Emily Pauline Johnson
"False," they said, "thy Pale-face lover, from the land of waking morn ;Rise and wed thy Redskin wooer, nobler warrior ne'er was born ;Cease thy watching, cease thy dreaming, Show the white thine Indian scorn
The King's Quire
© James I of Scotland
Bewailing in my chamber thus allone, Despeired of all joye and remedye,For-tirit of my thoght, and wo begone, Unto the wyndow gan I walk in hye, To se the warld and folk that went forby;As for the tyme, though I of mirthis fudeMyght have no more, to luke it did me gude
The Wayfarer
© Hyde Robin
The wounds of the world are good wounds, got in a hardy fight --Therefore 'tis best to welcome or pilgrim or knightWho limping comes on his quest, forspent or betrayed,Whose breast is an aching thrust; and who will not be stayed
The Vestal
© Hyde Robin
When all the other hours are drawn and grey,Spent by their little lusts of pride of gain,Sudden, like slim blue slivers of spring rain,Falls down the dusk
The Last Gift
© Hyde Robin
I have taken so much of your beauty, oh deep kind Earth,Face on your soft old face, heart on your warm heart lying --Scent of rain in leaves and the small stream's bubble of mirth,Hush of the sad-eyed pool that is dark with night-birds' crying,
Stars drowned deep in the lake, sunset's flame in a pine,Secret clutching fingers of baby ferns, close-curled --These are a stain of scent from a cool old perfumed wineThat sleeps in a carven chalice blue-glazed in the dawn of the world
