Poems begining by T
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The Retreat From Moscow
© George Moses Horton
Sad Moscow, thy fate do I see,
Fire! fire! in the city all cry;
Like quails from the eagle all flee,
Escape in a moment or die.
The Two Malefactors
© John Newton
Sovereign grace has pow'r alone
To subdue a heart of stone;
And the moment grace is felt,
Then the hardest heart will melt.
The Secret
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
SHE passes in her beauty bright
Amongst the mean, amongst the gay,
Tom Tyler And His Wife (excerpt)
© Anonymous
I am a poor tiler in simple array,
And get a poor living, but eightpence a day,
My wife as I get it doth spend it away,
And I cannot help it, she saith; wot we why?
For wedding and hanging is destiny.
To F. C. In Memoriam Palestine, '19
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Do you remember one immortal
Lost moment out of time and space,
The Venetian Serenade
© Richard Monckton Milnes
When along the light ripple the far serenade
Has accosted the ear of each passionate maid,
She may open the window that looks on the stream,--
She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream;
To Faneuil Hall
© John Greenleaf Whittier
MEN! if manhood still ye claim,
If the Northern pulse can thrill,
Roused by wrong or stung by shame,
Freely, strongly still;
The Dream Star
© George Essex Evans
Whisper, O wings of the wind! Sing me your song, O sea!
Grey is the weary world, and grey is the heart of me!
Into my shadowy heart pierce like the star of old,
Pearl of the tender dawn, kissed by the trembling gold!
The Lust Of The World
© Madison Julius Cawein
SINCE Man first lifted up his eyes to hers
And saw her vampire beauty, which is lust,
All else is dust
Within the compass of the universe.
The Transfixed
© Arthur Rimbaud
Black in the snow and fog,
at the great lighted airshaft, their bums rounded,
on their knees, five little ones - what anguish! -
watch the baker making the heavy white bread.
The Mary (A Sea-Side Sketch)
© Thomas Hood
Lov'st thou not, Alice, with the early tide
To see the hardy Fisher hoist his mast,
And stretch his sail towards the ocean wide,
Like God's own beadsman going forth to cast
The Bacchanal Of Alexander
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
A wondrous rumour fills and stirs
The wide Carmanian Vale;
On leafy hills the sunburnt vintagers
To Edward Williams
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
The serpent is shut out from Paradise.
The wounded deer must seek the herb no more
In which its heart-cure lies:
To Mr. Harley - Wounded by Guiscard
© Matthew Prior
In one great now, superior to an age,
The full extremes of nature's force we find:
How heavenly virtue can exalt, or rage
Infernal how degrade the human mind.
Thou Art Not False, But Thou Art Fickle
© George Gordon Byron
Thou art not false, but thou art fickle,
To those thyself so fondly sought;
The tears that thou hast forced to trickle
Are doubly bitter from that thought:
'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest
Too well thou lov'st - too soon thou leavest.
To The River Yvette. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O lovely river of Yvette!
O darling river! like a bride,
Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette,
Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide.
The Old Books
© Vernon Scannell
They were beautiful, the old books, beautiful I tell you.
You've no idea, you young ones with all those machines;
