Poems begining by T
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The Idlers Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. July
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
GOODWOOD
To the high breezes of the Goodwood Down
London has fled, and there awhile forgets
Its weariness of limb on lawns new--mown
The Predestined
© Katharine Tynan
Dear, we might have known you were
To die young--and were we blind
To the light on face and hair?
Dear, so simple and so kind.
The Junipers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Gray the slow sky darkens
Over the downland track
Where the long valley closes
Under a smooth hill's back.
To The Same (Amanda) With A Copy Of The 'Seasons'
© James Thomson
Accept, loved Nymph, this tribute due
To tender friendship, love, and you:
The True
© George MacDonald
Nay, nay, I envy not! And these are dreams,
Fancies and images of real heaven!
My longings, all my longing prayers are given
For that which is, and not for that which seems.
Draw me, O Lord, to thy true heaven above,
The Heaven of thy Thought, thy Rest, thy Love.
The Church Floore
© George Herbert
Mark you the floore? that square and speckled stone,
Which looks so firm and strong,
Is Patience:
Time And Sentiment
© George Meredith
I see a fair young couple in a wood,
And as they go, one bends to take a flower,
The Shepheardes Calender: July
© Edmund Spenser
Morrell.
Ah good Algrin, his hap was ill,
But shall be bett in time.
Now farwell shepheard, sith thys hyll
thou hast such doubt to climbe.
The House Of Dust: Part 01: 06:
© Conrad Aiken
The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 18
© William Langland
Wolleward and weetshoed wente I forth after
As a recchelees renk that [reccheth of no wo],
To Archilochus
© Theocritus
Pause, and scan well Archilochus, the bard of elder days,
By east and west
Alike's confest
The mighty lyrist's praise.
The Temptation Of St. Anthony
© Rainer Maria Rilke
It didn't help for him to drive the quills
Of porcupines into his lecher's flesh
His pandemonian senses uttered shrill
Expulsive cries and issued him a fresh
The Irishman's Song
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light
May sink into ne'er ending chaos and night,
Our mansions must fall, and earth vanish away,
But thy courage O Erin! may never decay.
The Farmer's Daughter Cherry
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
The Farmer quit what he was at,
The bee-hive he was smokin':
The Dedication: to Cornelius
© Gaius Valerius Catullus
To whom do I send this fresh little book
of wit, just polished off with dry pumice?
The Grassehopper. To My Noble Friend, Mr. Charles Cotton. O
© Richard Lovelace
I.
Oh thou, that swing'st upon the waving eare
Of some well-filled oaten beard,
Drunk ev'ry night with a delicious teare
Dropt thee from Heav'n, where now th'art reard.
The Statesmans Secret
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Loud rang the plaudits; with them rose the thought,
"Would he had learned the lesson he has taught!"
Used to the tributes of the noisy crowd,
The stately speaker calmly smiled and bowed;
The fire within a flushing cheek betrayed,
And eyes that burned beneath their penthouse shade.
To The Reformers Of England
© John Greenleaf Whittier
GOD bless ye, brothers! in the fight
Ye 're waging now, ye cannot fail,
For better is your sense of right
Than king-craft's triple mail.
