Poems begining by T
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The Champa Flower
© Rabindranath Tagore
SUPPOSING I became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother?
You would call, "Baby, where are you?" and I should laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.
The Beggars
© Arthur Symons
It is the beggars who possess the earth.
Kings on their throne have but the narrow girth
The Fiddler
© Adelaide Crapsey
"There's be no roof to shelter you;
You'll have no where to lay your head.
To a Sea-Gull
© Gerald Griffin
White bird of the tempest! O beautiful thing,
With the bosom of snow, and the motionless wing,
Theyre Coming Back
© Edgar Albert Guest
THEY 'RE coming home Thanksgiving Day,
They 're coming back once more,
The Poet's Death
© John Clare
The world is taking little heed
And plods from day to day:
The vulgar flourish like a weed,
The learned pass away.
The Chain Gang
© John Le Gay Brereton
Borne in the car along a crowded way,
Sun-soaked, I saw the world like shadows glide,
The Swimmer
© John Crowe Ransom
IN dog-days plowmen quit their toil,
And frog-ponds in the meadow boil,
And grasses on the upland broil,
And all the coiling things uncoil,
And eggs and meats and Christians spoil.
The Poor Can Feed the Birds
© John Shaw Neilson
Ragged, unheeded, stooping, meanly shod,
The poor pass to the pond: not far away
The spires go up to God.
The Honest Shepherd
© Matthew Prior
When hungry wolves had trespass'd on the fold,
And the robb'd shepherd his sad story told,
The Market-Wife's Song
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
The butter an' the cheese weel stowit they be,
I sit on the hen-coop the eggs on my knee,
The lang kail jigs as we jog owre the rigs,
The gray mare's tail it wags wi' the kail,
The warm simmer sky is blue aboon a',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
The Gift Of The Gods
© Edith Nesbit
"GIVE me thy dreams," she said, and I
With empty hands and very poor,
Watched my fair flowery visions die
Upon the temple's marble floor.
There Are Faeries
© Madison Julius Cawein
There are faeries. I could swear
I have seen them busy, where
Roses loose their scented hair,
In the moonlight weaving, weaving,
The Sower
© James Russell Lowell
I saw a Sower walking slow
Across the earth, from east to west;
His hair was white as mountain snow,
His head drooped forward on his breast.
The Fury Of Rain Storms
© Anne Sexton
The rain drums down like red ants,
each bouncing off my window.
The Sun's Last Ray
© Anonymous
Upon the blue mountain I stood,
Upon the mountain as he sank into the Rivers of Night:
The camps of the clouds in the heavens were shining with evening fires, many-colored,
And the pools on the plain below gleamed with many reflections:
All things were made precious with the Day's last ray.
