Poems begining by T
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This Quiet Dust
© John Hall Wheelock
For, as all flesh must die, so all,
Now dust, shall live. 'Tis natural;
Yet hardly do I understand --
Here in the hollow of my hand
A bit of God Himself I keep,
Between two vigils fallen asleep.
The Voyageur
© William Henry Drummond
Dere's somet'ing stirrin' ma blood tonight,
On de night of de young new year,
The Colours Of Light
© Dorothea Mackellar
This is not easy to understand
For you that come from a distant land
Where all thecolours are low in pitch -
Deep purples, emeralds deep and rich,
Where autumn's flaming and summer's green -
Here is a beauty you have not seen.
The Witnesses
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Lads in the loose blue,
Crutched, with limping feet,
With bandaged arm, that roam
To--day the bustling street,
The Road to Roundabout
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Some say that Guy of Warwick
The man that killed the Cow,
The Ports of the Open Sea
© Henry Lawson
Down here where the ships loom large in
The gloom when the sea-storms veer,
The Holy Scriptures
© George Herbert
Oh Book! infinite sweetnesse! let my heart
Suck ev'ry letter, and a hony gain,
Precious for any grief in any part;
To cleare the breast, to mollifie all pain.
To The West Wind
© George Frederick Cameron
WEST wind, come from the west land
Fair and far!
Come from the fields of the best land
Upon our star!
The Mendicants
© Bliss William Carman
We are as mendicants who wait
Along the roadside in the sun.
Tatters of yesterday and shreds
Of morrow clothe us every one.
The Society Upon The Stanislaus
© Francis Bret Harte
I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;
I am not up to small deceit or any sinful games;
And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row
That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow.
The Death And Burial Of McDonald Clarke: A Parody
© Walt Whitman
Not a sigh was heard, not a tear was shed,
As a way to the 'tombs' he was hurried,
No mother or friend held his dying head,
Or wept when the poet was buried.
Translations And Adaptations From Heine
© Ezra Pound
I
Is your hate, then, of such measure?
Do you, truly, so detest me?
Through all the world will I complain
Of how you have addressed me.
The Swallow
© Charlotte Turner Smith
THE gorse is yellow on the heath,
The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,
The Dark Garden
© Robert Laurence Binyon
When your head leans back slowly, and gazing eyes
Muse earnest upon mine and starry swim
With depths unfathomed that still well and rise,
And the words fail, and sight with love grows dim,
The Dream Of Pio Nono
© John Greenleaf Whittier
IT chanced that while the pious troops of France
Fought in the crusade Pio Nono preached,
What time the holy Bourbons stayed his hands
(The Hur and Aaron meet for such a Moses),
The Prairie-Grass Dividing
© Walt Whitman
THE prairie-grass dividing-its special odor breathing,
I demand of it the spiritual corresponding,
To Love (Amanda)
© James Thomson
Sweet tyrant Love,- but hear me now!
And cure while young this pleasing smart;
Or rather aid my trembling vow,
And teach me to reveal my heart.
The Song Of Hiawatha XIX: The Ghosts
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Never stoops the soaring vulture
On his quarry in the desert,
