Poems begining by T
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Tribute To The Memory Of The Rev. Sister The Nativity, Foundress Of The Convent Of Villa Maria
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Oh, Villa Maria, thrice favored spot,
Unclouded sunshine is still thy lot
Since first, neath thy mortal old,
The spouses of Christworking out Gods will,
Meekly entered, their mission high to fill
Mid the little ones of His fold.
The Assimilation Of The Gypsies
© Larry Levis
In the background, a few shacks & overturned carts
And a gray sky holding the singular pallor of Lent.
And here the crowd of onlookers, though a few of them
Must be intimate with the victim,
The Trust
© Katharine Tynan
To you, O Sr Therèse of Lisieux,
Fresh as a morning rose in morning dew,
We give our men in keeping:
Watch them waking, watch them sleeping.
Lest our hearts should break, O keep trust and be true!
The Imported Servant
© Henry Lawson
The Blue Sky arches oer mountain and valley,
The scene is as fair as a scene can be,
The Swagless Swaggie
© Edward Harrington
This happened many years ago
Before the bush was cleared,
When every man was six foot high
And wore a flowing beard.
The Old Place
© Blanche Edith Baughan
SO the last days come at last, the close of my fifteen year
The end of the hope, an the struggles, an messes Ive put in here.
The Sundew
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
A LITTLE marsh-plant, yellow green,
And pricked at lip with tender red.
Tread close, and either way you tread
Some faint black water jets between
Lest you should bruise the curious head.
To The Right Honourable The Lady Elizabeth Brownlow,
© Mary Barber
Who can the hardest Task refuse,
When lovely Lady Betty sues?
If her Requests Resistance find,
It must be from the Deaf and Blind.
The Song
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
MY soul, lost in the music's mist,
Roamed, rapt, 'neath skies of amethyst,
Thou Shall Not Kill
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
I had grown weary of him; of his breath
And hands and features I was sick to death.
Each day I heard the same dull voice and tread;
I did not hate him: but I wished him dead.
And he must with his blank face fill my life--
Then my brain blackened; and I snatched a knife.
The Lighthouse
© Alaric Alexander Watts
Yes, Desolation, on her viewless wing,
Even now, perhaps, is speeding with the blast
The Garden Refused
© Edith Nesbit
There is a garden made for our delight,
Where all the dreams we dare not dream come true.
I know it, but I do not know the way.
We slip and tumble in the doubtful night,
Where everything is difficult and new,
And clouds our breath has made obscure the day.
The Prisoner
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
All day I lie beneath the great pine tree,
Whose perfumed branches wave and shadow me.
The Broken Pitcher
© William Edmondstoune Aytoun
It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot, tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo,
Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.
Theology in Extremis: Or a soliloquy that may have been delivered in India, June, 1857
© Alfred Comyn Lyall
Oft in the pleasant summer years,
Reading the tales of days bygone,
I have mused on the story of human tears,
All that man unto man had done,
Massacre, torture, and black despair;
Reading it all in my easy-chair.
