Poems begining by T

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Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul;
Love is the only angel who can bid the gates unroll;
And when he comes to call thee, arise and follow fast;
His way may lie through darkness, but it leads to light at last.

The Black Tracker (Or: Why He Lost The Track)

© Henry Lawson

THERE was a tracker in the force
Of wondrous sight (the story ran):
He never failed to track a horse,
He never failed to find his man.

The Suburbs

© Enid Derham

MILES and miles of quiet houses, every house a harbour,

Each for some unquiet soul a haven and a home,

The Bride Of The Nile - Act I

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Act I Governor's Palace at Alexandria.
Act II Garden House of the Makawkas at On.
Act III On the Banks of the Nile. Time, th Century, A.D.

The Hillside Grave

© Madison Julius Cawein

Ten-hundred deep the drifted daisies break

Here at the hill's foot; on its top, the wheat

Threnody.

© Robert Crawford

Dark Pine that moanest long,
Sad, solitary tree!
As if the world's wrong
A tongue had found in thee,

The Horses

© Katharine Lee Bates

"Thus far 80,000 horses have been shipped from the United States to the European belligerents."

WHAT was our share in the sinning,

The Fount Of Tears

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

All hot and grimy from the road,
Dust gray from arduous years,
I sat me down and eased my load
Beside the Fount of Tears.

The Isles Of Greece

© George Gordon Byron

The mountains look on Marathon-
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persians' grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.

The Southern Mother's Charge

© Anonymous

You go, my son, to the battle-field
To repel the invading foe;
'Mid its fiercest conflicts never yield
Till death shall lay you low.

The Lads of the Maple Leaf

© Jessie Pope

RIPE for any adventure, sturdy, loyal and game,
Quick to the call of the Mother, the young Canadians came.
Eager to show their mettle, ready to shed their blood,
They bowed their neck to the collar and trained in the Wiltshire mud;

The House Of Dust: Part 01: 05:

© Conrad Aiken

The snow floats down upon us, we turn, we turn,
Through gorges filled with light we sound and flow . . .
One is struck down and hurt, we crowd about him,
We bear him away, gaze after his listless body;
But whether he lives or dies we do not know.

The Wild Iris

That day we wandered 'mid the hills,-so lone
Clouds are not lonelier, the forest lay
In emerald darkness round us. Many a stone
And gnarly root, gray-mossed, made wild our way:
And many a bird the glimmering light along
Showered the golden bubbles of its song.

The King and the Sea

After His Realms and States were moved
To bare their hearts to the King they loved,
Tendering themselves in homage and devotion,
The Tide Wave up the Channel spoke
To all those eager, exultant folk:-
"Hear now what Man was given you by the Ocean!