Poems begining by T
/ page 27 of 916 /
The Beira Malaria
© Craig Thomas
When you rise to greet old Phœbus with a booming in your head, And your temples throb and threaten straight to burst;When your tongue feels like a doormat and your eyelids feel like lead, And your throat is dry and parched with burning thirst; When your eyeballs shun the light; And the sunshine seems a blight,You may moan your luck, and wish you'd ne'er been weaned, For your star is unpropitious And the Fates have hit you "vicious,"And you're "collared" by the Beira Fever Fiend; For he's a "daisy" -- he's a "lamb" -- And Rudyard's kippered "damn"Seems gurgling baby-prattle meant to grieve you, While the curs'd malaria rages Through it's flaming fiery stages --Only scientific swearing will relieve you
The Task: from Book V: The Winter Morning Walk
© William Cowper
'Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orbAscending, fires th' horizon: while the clouds,That crowd away before the driving wind,More ardent as the disk emerges more,Resemble most some city in a blaze,Seen through the leafless wood
The Task: from Book IV: The Winter Evening
© William Cowper
Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge,That with its wearisome but needful lengthBestrides the wintry flood, in which the moonSees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,He comes, the herald of a noisy world,With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;News from all nations lumb'ring at his back
To the Hills!
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
'Tis eight miles out, and eight miles in,Just at the break of morn.'Tis ice without and flame within,To gain a kiss at dawn!
The River of Pearls at Fez: Translation
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
One evening we sat togetherBy the river of Pearls at Fez,Stringing verses and sometimes singing
The Net of Memory
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
I cast the Net of Memory,Man's torment and delight,Over the level Sands of YouthThat lay serenely bright,Their tranquil gold at times submergedIn the Spring Tides of Love's Delight.
[To Margot Heinemann]
© Rupert John Cornford
Heart of the heartless world,Dear heart, the thought of youIs the pain at my side,The shadow that chills my view.
The Unfair Sex
© Colombo John Robert
Some girls are like French verbs,the irregular kind. Avoir. Etre.
There is No Way Out
© Colombo John Robert
One of these days they will come for youit will happen on a day like any other daybut this day at four in the afternoonthey will drive up in their big black Cadillacsthe tall men in overcoatsand they will ask about youtheir black briefcases bulgingtheir synchronized watches ticking
The Passions
© William Taylor Collins
When Music, heav'nly maid, was young,While yet in early Greece she sung,The Passions oft, to hear her shell,Throng'd around her magic cell,Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,Possest beyond the Muse's painting;By turns they felt the glowing mindDisturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd:Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,From the supporting myrtles roundThey snatch'd her instruments of sound;And as they oft had heard apartSweet lessons of her forceful art,Each, for madness rul'd the hour,Would prove his own expressive pow'r
To a Cat
© Hartley Coleridge
Nelly, methinks, 'twixt thee and meThere is a kind of sympathy;And could we interchange our nature, --If I were cat, thou human creature, --I should, like thee, be no great mouser,And thou, like me, no great composer;For, like thy plaintive mews, my museWith villainous whine doth fate abuse,Because it hath not made me sleekAs golden down on Cupid's cheek;And yet thou canst upon the rug lie,Stretch'd out like snail, or curl'd up snugly,As if thou wert not lean or ugly;And I, who in poetic flightsSometimes complain of sleepless nights,Regardless of the sun in heaven,Am apt to doze till past eleven, --The world would just the same go roundIf I were hang'd and thou wert drown'd;There is one difference, 'tis true, --Thou dost not know it, and I do
The Recruit
© Coleman Helena Jane
Through all the anguish of these days, The haunting horror and the woe,One thought can set my heart ablaze My memory aglow.
The Lament of the Forest
© Cole Thomas
In joyous Summer, when the exulting earthFlung fragrance from innumerable flowersThrough the wide wastes of heaven, as on she tookIn solitude her everlasting way,I stood among the mountain heights, alone!The beauteous mountains, which the voyagerOn Hudson's breast far in the purple westMagnificent, beholds; the abutments broadWhence springs the immeasurable dome of heaven
The Ballad of Othello Clemence
© Clarke George Elliott
There's a black wind howlin' by Whylah Falls;There's a mad rain hammerin' the flowers;There's a shotgunned man moulderin' in petals;There's a killer chucklin' to himself;There's a mother keenin' her posied son;There's a joker amblin' over his bones
The Assassination of Indira Gandhi
© Clarke George Elliott
In Kitchener, Hallowe'en frost chokes roses,The spruce gangrene, and haystacks flame in fieldsWhere Mennonites preach black, scorched-earth gospels
To the Ladies
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
WIFE and servant are the same,But only differ in the name :For when that fatal knot is ty'd,Which nothing, nothing can divide :When she the word obey has said,And man by law supreme has made,Then all that's kind is laid aside,And nothing left but state and pride :Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,And all his innate rigour shows :Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,Will the nuptial contract break
The Lovely Figure
© Christakos Margaret
Kiss you on the cheeks, that double-round coital zone, the lovely figureI have loved over and over
