Poems begining by T
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Top-O'-The-Morning
© William Henry Ogilvie
Top-o'-THE Morning's shoes are off ;
He runs in the orchard, rough, all day,
The Herd And The Mavis
© George MacDonald
"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie,
"What gars ye sing sae lood?"
"To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie,
The worms for my daily food."
The Woodpecker
© Emily Dickinson
His bill an auger is,
His head, a cap and frill.
He laboreth at every tree,-
A worm his utmost goal.
To The Cricket
© Archibald Lampman
Didst thou not tease and fret me to and fro,
Sweet spirit of this summer-circled field,
The Servant Girl Justified
© Jean de La Fontaine
LET us proceed, howe'er (our plan explained
A pretty servant-girl a man retain'd.
She pleas'd his eye, and presently he thought,
With ease she might to am'rous sports be brought;
He prov'd not wrong; the wench was blithe and gay,
A buxom lass, most able ev'ry way.
The Luck of Edenhall. From The German Of Uhland
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call.
He rises at the banquet board,
And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all,
"Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!"
The Lodes That Under-lie
© Edwin Greenslade Murphy
O, calm and clear the liar lies
Who writes reports on mines;
Behold what knowledge deep and wise
His legend intertwines.
But ah, if he should own the lease
Supposed to hold the lode
The Squires Pew
© Jane Taylor
A SLANTING ray of evening light
Shoots through the yellow pane ;
It makes the faded crimson bright,
And gilds the fringe again :
The window's gothic frame-work falls
In oblique shadow on the walls.
To M.
© William Gay
IF in the summer of thy bright regard
For one brief season these poor Rhymes shall live
The Shut-Eye Sentry
© Rudyard Kipling
So it was "Rounds! What Rounds?" at two of a frosty night,
'E's 'oldin' on by the sergeant's sash, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it was "Pass! All's well!" Oh, ain't 'e drippin' tight!
'E'll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an'-by.
The King Of Brentford
© William Makepeace Thackeray
There was a king in Brentford,of whom no legends tell,
But who, without his glory,could eat and sleep right well.
His Polly's cotton nightcap,it was his crown of state,
He slept of evenings early,and rose of mornings late.
The Song Of The Kasak
© Alexander Pushkin
Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
Kazak has never heart for rest,
Not on the field, nor in the wood,
Nor when in face of danger pressed
His steed the raging stream must breast!
To Mr. Henry Lawes, Who Had Then Newly Set a Song of Mine
© Edmund Waller
You, by the help of tune and time,
Can make that song which was but rhyme.
Noy pleading, no man doubts the cause;
Or questions verses set by Lawes.
The Door Of Humility
© Alfred Austin
ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
The How and Why of such as He;
The Troubadour
© William Schwenck Gilbert
A troubadour he played
Without a castle wall,
Within, a hapless maid
Responded to his call.
The Timber Team
© William Henry Ogilvie
No medal and no cross they wear
No ribbon gleaming on the breast
The Dominion Of Australia {A Forecast}
© James Brunton Stephens
SHE is not yet, but he whose ear
Thrills to that finer atmosphere
