Poems begining by T

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The Crusader's Return

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Rest pilgrim, rest!-thou'rt from the Syrian land,

Thou'rt from the wild and wondrous east, I know

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The First Dingo

© Henry Lawson

The kangaroo was formed to run,

but not from man alone -

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The Swamp

© Roderic Quinn

FOR one whole day and a long night through
We made our camp
In a she-oak grove by a coastal swamp.
Our tent gleamed white in the she-oak trees,

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To The Beloved--A Lament

© Alice Meynell

Beloved, thou art like a tune that idle fingers
  Play on a window-pane.
The time is there, the form of music lingers;
  But O thou sweetest strain,
Where is thy soul?  Thou liest i' the wind and rain.

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The Silent Singer

© Alma Frances McCollum

(Eugene Field)

THE lights are all low, for the sun's in the west,

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The Plate Of Gold

© James Henry Leigh Hunt

One day there fell in great Benares' temple-court
A wondrous plate of gold, whereon these words were writ;
"To him who loveth best, a gift from Heaven."
  Thereat.

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"There Stands A City"

© Charles Stuart Calverley

Ingoldsby
Year by year do Beauty's daughters,
  In the sweetest gloves and shawls,
Troop to taste the Chattenham waters,
  And adorn the Chattenham balls.

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Thou Hast Not Raised

© Walter Savage Landor

Thou hast not rais'd, Ianthe, such desire

In any breast as thou hast rais'd in mine.

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The Eaglet Mourned

© Victor Marie Hugo

Too hard Napoleon's fate! if, lone,
No being he had loved, no single one,
  Less dark that doom had been.
But with the heart of might doth ever dwell
The heart of love! And in his island cell
  Two things there were, I ween:

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The Latest Decalogue

© Arthur Hugh Clough

Thou shalt have one God only; who

 Would be at the expense of two?

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The Ring And The Book - Chapter VI - Giuseppe Caponsacchi

© Robert Browning

Again the morning found me. “I will work,
“Tie down my foolish thoughts. Thank God so far!
“I have saved her from a scandal, stopped the tongues
“Had broken else into a cackle and hiss
“Around the noble name. Duty is still
“Wisdom: I have been wise.” So the day wore.

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The Bethlehem Nursing Home by Rodney Torreson: American Life in Poetry #25 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Lau

© Ted Kooser

Emily Dickinson said that poems come at the truth at a slant. Here a birdbath and some overturned chairs on a nursing home lawn suggest the frailties of old age. Masterful poems choose the very best words and put them in the very best places, and Michigan poet Rodney Torreson has deftly chosen "ministers" for his first verb, an active verb that suggests the good work of the nursing home's chaplain.


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The Younger Brutus

© Giacomo Leopardi

When in the Thracian dust uprooted lay,

  In ruin vast, the strength of Italy,

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To A Rhinoceros

© Hilaire Belloc

Rhinoceros, your hide looks all undone,
You do not take my fancy in the least:
You have a horn where other brutes have none:
Rhinoceros, you are an ugly beast.

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The Fountain Of Youth

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

READ AT THE MEETING OF THE HARVARD ALUMNI

ASSOCIATION, JUNE 25, 1873

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The Four Queens (Maoriland).

© Arthur Henry Adams

Wellington.
HERE, where the surges of a world of sea
Break on our bastioned walls with league-long sweep,
Four fair young queens their lonely splendour keep,

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The Man of Sentiment

© Kenneth Slessor

Part One
[A walled garden of York. It is an August Sunday, and the baying of deep church-bells is blown faintly in a warm wind. Laurence Sterne, prebendary, aged forty-six, and Catherine de Fromantel, a girl who sings at Ranelagh, are dawdling through the arbours, and pause at a path which runs between hedges and cypress-trees round a corner some fifty yards away. Catherine has walked down such a path before, it is to be feared, and halts cautiously upon its fringes.]
Laurence:
Nay, 'tis no Devil's walk,

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The Call

© George Herbert

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:
Such a Way, as gives us breath:
Such a Truth, as ends all strife:
Such a Life, as killeth death.

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The Old Bridge At Florence

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Taddeo Gaddi built me.  I am old,

  Five centuries old.  I plant my foot of stone

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To One Dead

© Francis Ledwidge

A blackbird singing

On a moss-upholstered stone,