Poems begining by T
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The Widow's Croone
© Galt John
And maun I lanely spin the tow, And ca' the weary wheel,For cauld they lie,--where do they lie, The winsome and the leil?
The Selfish
© Galt John
There is a death, an apathy profoundAs that of those who in the churchyard lie,Although the sepulchres be above ground,Where rot these moral morts unconsciously
The Seamstress
© Galt John
Miss Peggy Pringle, meek and meager, pliesHer eydent needle from the earliest beam,And, far in night, by her lone candle triesTo eik her penury with thread and seam
To Sir Toby,
© Philip Morin Freneau
." The motions of his spirit are black as night, ." And his affections dark as Erebus.." SHAKESPEARE.
To Mr. Blanchard, the Celebrated Aeronaut
© Philip Morin Freneau
Nil Mortalibus ard unum lestCoelum ipsum petimus stuttistra. HORACE.
The Movies
© Frank Florence Kiper
She knows a cheap release From worry and from pain --The cowboys spur their horses Over the unending plain.
The Jewish Conscript
© Frank Florence Kiper
There are nearly a quarter of a million Jews in the Czar's army alone. (Newspaper clipping)
Tenebris Interlucentem
© Flecker James Elroy
A linnet who had lost her waySang on a blackened bough in Hell,Till all the ghosts remembered wellThe trees, the wind, the golden day.
Trash
© Fiorentino Jon Paul
trash in the mind trash of the world man is half trash all trash in the grave --Allen Ginsberg
The Tree
© Anne Finch - Countess of Winchilsea
Fair tree! for thy delightful shade'Tis just that some return be made;Sure some return is due from meTo thy cool shadows, and to thee
The Petition for an Absolute Retreat
© Anne Finch - Countess of Winchilsea
(Inscribed to the Right Honourable Catharine Countess of Thanet, mentioned in the poem under the name of Arminda)
Two Bodies
© Annie Finch
Two bodies, balanced in mass and power,move in a bed through the dark,under the earliest human hour.A night rocks, like an ark.
The Puff-adder
© Fairbridge Kingsley
Here where the grey rhenoster clothes the hill, Drowsing beside a boulder in the sun,Slumbrous-inert, so gloomy and so still, On the warm steep where aimless sheep-paths run,A short thick length of chevron-pattern's skin, A wide flat head so lazy on the sand,Unblinking eyes that warn of power within, Lies he, -- the limbless terror of the land
The Women of the West
© George Essex Evans
They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion on the hill,The houses in the busy streets where life is never still,The pleasures of the city, and the friends they cherished best:For love they faced the wilderness -- the Women of the West
To a Lady, Asking him how Long he would Love her
© Sir George Etherege
It is not, Celia, in our power To say how long our love will last;It may be we within this hour May lose those joys we now do taste:The blessed, that immortal be,From change in love are only free.
