Poems begining by T

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The Fairy Pendant

© William Butler Yeats

All: Come away while the moon's in the woodland,
We'll dance and then feast in a dairy.
Though youngest of all in our good band,
You are wasting away, little fairy.

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The Troubadour

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

THE wind blows salt from off the sea
  And sweet from where the land lies green;
I travel down the great highway
  That runs so straight and white between--
I watch the sea-wind strain the sheet,
The land-wind toss the yellow wheat!

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The Key (A Moorish Romance)

© Thomas Hood

"On the east coast, towards Tunis, the Moors still preserve the key of their ancestors' houses in Spain; to which country they still express the hopes of one day returning and again planting the crescent on the ancient walls of the Alhambra."—Scott's Travels in Morocco and Algiers.
"Is Spain cloven in such a manner as to want closing?" Sancho Panza in Don Quixote

The Moor leans on his cushion,

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The Fourth Olympic Ode Of Pindar

© Henry James Pye

To Psaumis of Camarina, on his Victory in the Chariot Race. ARGUMENT. The Poet, after an invocation to Jupiter, extols Psaumis for his Victory in the Chariot Race, and for his desire to honor his country. From thence he takes occasion to praise him for his skill in managing horses, his hospitality, and his love of peace; and, mentioning the history of Erginus, excuses the early whiteness of his hair.

STROPHE.

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To Eva Descending The Stair

© Sylvia Plath

Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;
The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

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Third Sunday After Epiphany

© John Keble

I marked a rainbow in the north,
 What time the wild autumnal sun
  From his dark veil at noon looked forth,
 As glorying in his course half done,
  Flinging soft radiance far and wide
Over the dusky heaven and bleak hill-side.

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The Swamp Angel

© Herman Melville

There is a coal-black Angel

  With a thick Afric lip,

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The Caged Eagle’s Death Dream

© Robinson Jeffers

from CAWDOR

While George went to the house

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The Pilgrimage

© George Herbert

I travell'd on, seeing the hill, where lay
  My expectation.
  A long it was and weary way:
  The gloomy cave of Desperation
I left on th' one, and on the other side
  The Rock of Pride.

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To The Napoleon Column

© Victor Marie Hugo

When with gigantic hand he placed,
For throne on vassal Europe based.
  That column's lofty height,
Pillar, in whose dread majesty,
In double immortality,
  Glory and bronze unite!

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The Shadowy Waters: Introduction

© William Butler Yeats

I walked among the seven woods of Coole:

Shan-walla, where a willow-bordered pond

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The Cowboys Homing

© Arthur Chapman

Bill’s home ag’in from Europe, where he featured with a show,
But he don’t talk none about it — his words jest seem to flow
On the subject of home-comin’, and this glorious Southwest land,
Which talk, to all us people, is some hard to onderstand.

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ToThe Right Honourable The Lady Elizabeth Germain, Upon Seeing Her Do A Generous Action

© Mary Barber

When Ruin threaten'd me of late,
With all its ghastly Train;
Some Pow'r, in Pity to my Fate,
Sent bountiful Germain,

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The Island: Canto II.

© George Gordon Byron

I.

How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai,

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The Girls at Home

© Henry Clay Work

When the daylight fades on the tented field,

And the campfire cheerfully burns,

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The Muses Threnodie: Third Muse

© Henry Adamson

These be the first memorials of a bridge,
Good Monsier, that we truely can alledge.
Thus spoke good Gall, and I did much rejoyce
To hear him these antiquities disclose;
Which I remembering now, of force must cry—
Gall, sweetest Gall, what ailed thee to die?

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The Dream—House

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Often we talk of the house that we will build
For airier and less jostled days than these
We chafe in, and send Fancy roaming wide
Down western valleys with a choosing eye

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The Greek Girl’s Lament For Her Lover

© Caroline Norton

IMRA! thy form is vanished
From the proud and patriot band;
Imra! thy voice is silent,
'Mongst the voices of the land.

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The Poet's Songs.

© Robert Crawford

The copse-wood merely sows
Itself, not planted;
And so it is with those
Strange and enchanted

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The Immortal

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

Beauty that rosed the moth-wing, touched the land
With clover-horns and delicate faint flowers,
Beauty that bade the showers
Beat on the violet's face,
Shall hold the eternal heavens within their place
And hear new stars come singing from God's hand.