Poems begining by T
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The Realms Of Gold
© Alfred Noyes
I wished that a poet who died in Europe
Had found his way to this rose-red West;
That Keats had walked by the wide Pacific
And cradled his head on its healing breast,
And made new songs of the sun-burned sea-folk,
New poems, perhaps his best.
To A Lady Playing The Harp
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Thy tones are silver melted into sound,
And as I dream
I see no walls around,
But seem to hear
A gondolier
Sing sweetly down some slow Venetian stream.
The Present Age
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Say not the age is hard and cold--
I think it brave and grand;
When men of diverse sects and creeds
Are clasping hand in hand.
The Land Of Happy
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Have you been to the land of happy,
Where everyone's happy all day,
Where they joke and they sing
Of the happiest things,
The Troubadour
© Sir Walter Scott
Glowing with love, on fire for fame
A Troubadour that hated sorrow
The Ghost Ship.
© Robert Crawford
Behold her on the silent sea,
Yon vessel like a spirit there!
Moved in a dream's reality,
As if she trod the air.
The Annunciation Of The Blessed Virgin
© John Keble
Oh! Thou who deign'st to sympathise
With all our frail and fleshly ties,
Maker yet Brother dear,
Forgive the too presumptuous thought,
If, calming wayward grief, I sought
To gaze on Thee too near.
The Cupboard
© Robert Graves
Mary: That cupboard, dearest mother,
With shining crystal handles?
There's nought inside but rags and jags
And yellow tallow candles.
The Old Leaven
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Maurice:
No, Mark, I'm not so easily cross'd;
'Tis true that I've had a run
Of bad luck lately; indeed, I've lost;
Well! somebody else has won.
The Girdle Of Friendship
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
SHE gathered at her slender waist
The beauteous robe she wore;
Its folds a golden belt embraced,
One rose-hued gem it bore.
The Grotto
© Francis Scarfe
The sea still plunges where as naked boys
We dared the currents and the racing tides
Two Voices
© Edith Nesbit
COUNTRY
'SWEET are the lanes and the hedges, the fields made red with the clover,
The Happy Hyena
© Carolyn Wells
There once was a happy Hyena
Who played on an old concertina.
He dressed very well,
And in his lapel
He carelessly stuck a verbena.
Table Talk
© William Cowper
A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt;
The Wind-Flower
© Jones Very
Thou lookest up with meek confiding eye
Upon the clouded smile of April's face,
