Poems begining by T
/ page 248 of 916 /
There Was Earth
© Paul Celan
They dug and they dug, and so
their Day went by, and their Night. And they did not praise God,
who, so they heard, wanted all this,
who, so they heard, knew of all this.
The Indian Lover. Morning Song.
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
O'ER flowery fields of waving maize,
The breeze of morning lightly plays;
Arise, my Zumia! let us rove,
The cool and fragrant citron grove!
The Germans On The Heighs Of Hochheim
© William Wordsworth
ABRUPTLY paused the strife;--the field throughout
Resting upon his arms each warrior stood,
The Two Ogres
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Good children, list, if you're inclined,
And wicked children too -
This pretty ballad is designed
Especially for you.
The Heritage
© James Russell Lowell
The rich man's son inherits lands,
And piles of brick and stone, and gold,
The Golden City of St. Mary
© John Masefield
Out beyond the sunset could I but find the way,
Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay,
And there's the Blessed City &mdash so the sailors say &mdash
The Golden City of St. Mary.
The Unattainable Ideal
© Piet Hein
We ought to live
each day as though
it were our last day
here below.
The Widow To Her Sons Betrothed
© Caroline Norton
I.
AH, cease to plead with that sweet cheerful voice,
Nor bid me struggle with a weight of woe,
Lest from the very tone that says "rejoice"
To Myrtilla Complaining
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Myrtie, you weep that the bard has neglected you,
Passed you, forgotten you, let you alone.
Bless you, Myrtilla, I never suspected you
Ever would speak to me, sweet, in that tone.
The Plougher
© Padraic Colum
Sunset and silence! A man: around him earth savage, earth broken;
Beside him two horses - a plough!
The Return Of Ulysses
© Richard Monckton Milnes
The Man of wisdom and endurance rare,
A sundry--coloured and strange--featured way,
Our hearts have followed; now the pleasant care
Is near its end,--the oars' sweet--echoed play,
The Avalanche
© Alaric Alexander Watts
'Tis Night; and Silence with unmoving wings
Broods o'er the sleeping waters;ânot a sound
The Battle Of Kings Mountain
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
OFTTIMES an old man's yesterdays o'er his frail vision pass,
Dim as the twilight tints that touch a dusk-enshrouded glass;
But, ah! youth's time and manhood's prime but grow more brave, more bright,
As still the lengthening shadows steal toward the rayless night.
The Green River
© Lord Alfred Douglas
I know a green grass path that leaves the field,
And like a running river, winds along
The True Aaron
© John Newton
See Aaron, God's anointed priest,
Within the veil appear;
In robes of mystic meaning dressed,
Presenting Israel's prayer.
That Wind I Used To Hear It Swelling
© Emily Jane Brontë
That wind I used to hear it swelling
With joy divinely deep
You might have seen my hot tears welling
But rapture made me weep
Three Men Of Truro
© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Aloft with us! And while another stone
Swings to its socket, haste with trowel and hod!
Win the old smile a moment ere, alone,
Soars the great soul to bear report to God.
Night falls; but thou, dear Captain, from thy star
Look down, behold how bravely goes the war!
