Poems begining by T
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Though some Saith that Youth Ruleth me
© Henry VIII, King of England
Though some saith that youth ruleth me, I trust in age to tarry.God and my right and my duty, From them I shall never vary, Though some say that youth ruleth me.
Tobacco is a Dirty Weed
© Hemminger Graham Lee
Tobacco is a dirty weed,I like it.It satisfies no normal need,I like it.It makes you thin, it makes you lean,It takes the hair right off your bean.It's the worst darn stuff I've ever seen.I like it.
The Soul of Spain With McAlmon and Bird the Publishers
© Ernest Hemingway
In the rain in the rain in the rain in the rain in Spain
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
"Look now abroad--another race has fill'dThose populous borders--wide the wood recedes,And town shoots up, and fertile realms are till'd;The land is full of harvests and green meads."--BRYANT
The Dover Bitch
© Anthony Evan Hecht
So there stood Matthew Arnold and this girlWith the cliffs of England crumbling away behind them,And he said to her, 'Try to be true to me,And I'll do the same for you, for things are badAll over, etc
The Wail of the Cornish Mother
© Robert Stephen Hawker
I. That what God doth is best:But 'tis only a month to-morrow, I buried it from my breast.
The Song of the Western Men
© Robert Stephen Hawker
I. A merry heart and true!King James's men shall understand What Cornish lads can do.
The Burial Hour
© Robert Stephen Hawker
I."To close their brother's narrow bed:"'Tis at that pleasant hour of dayThe labourer treads his homeward way.
The Pastime of Pleasure
© Stephen Hawes
The good Dame Mercy with Dame CharyteMy body buryed full ryght humblyIn a fayre temple of olde antyquyte,Where was for me a dyryge devoutelyAnd with many a masse full ryght solempnely;And over my grave, to be in memory,Remembraunce made this lytell epytaphy:
"O erthe, on erthe it is a wonders caceThat thou arte blynde and wyll not the knowe
The Writers Postscript: or a Frendly Caueat to the Second Shakerley of Powles
© Gabriel Harvey
Slumbring I lay in melancholy bed,Before the dawning of the sanguin light:When Eccho Shrill, or some Familiar SprightBuzzed an Epitaph into my hed.
To the Spirit of the West
© Susan Frances Harrison
God of the rivers and lakes,Maker of manifold blooms,Dweller in woodland brakes,Weaver of violet glooms,
The Peddler (Male)
© Susan Frances Harrison
Scissors and needles and pins--pins and needles and tape!Autolycus come to life, but look how Autolycus grins!What's wrong with his mouth? You would say it's full of his needles and pins,It's all on one side with a kink, a kind of a twisted gape
The Peddler (Female)
© Susan Frances Harrison
Fur-coated, lip-sticked, bleached and water-waved,Mild yet majestic, first she fills the door,Then gently pushes forward with her storeIn large black bag; her purse is gilt engravedWith name, address, so clearly she has saved,From arduous calling, golden bits galore,Safe guarded by a friendly Bank, beforeWhose cautious counter she is well-behaved
The Hours in Final Chorus
© Charles Harpur
Night Hours.Where's the young BardWho sang of his loneliness yesternightIn such strains as, when heard,Drew a cloud o'er the rising moon's light?
The Distance of the Dead
© Charles Harpur
How distant in a moment are the dead! Round Mamre's Cave, four thousand years ago,A long procession up from Egypt led, Closed mourning, like a sable cloud of woe
The Song of an Exile
© William Hamilton
I have seen the Cliffs of Dover And the White Horse on the Hill; I have walked the lanes, a rover; I have dreamed beside the rill: I have known the fields awaking To the gentle touch of Spring; The joy of morning breaking, And the peace your twilights bring
The Traveler
© Guiterman Arthur
Oh, who would choose to be a traveler? --That anxious railway-guide unravelerWho spends his nights in berths and bunks,His days in chaperoning trunks;Who stands in line at gates and wicketsTo spend his means on costly ticketsTo Irkutsk, Liverpool and YapAnd other dots upon the map
The Phlebotomous Flea
© Guiterman Arthur
A Flea who felt phlebotomousAssailed a Hippopotamus; The Hippo, he Sat on the Flea,And, goodness gracious! what a muss!
The Passionate Suburbanite To His Love
© Guiterman Arthur
Commute with me, my Love, and be merry; How vain in the City to dwellWhen apple-trees blow in Dobbs' Ferry And lilacs adorn New Rochelle!White Plains is the Garden of Allah And Pelham's the Pearl of the Sea;There's bliss in the name of Valhalla -- Oh, fly to the Suburbs with me!
Then won't you commute on my family ticket?To Westchester County we'll flee
