Poems begining by T
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To A Young Lady, With A Poem On The French Revolution
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters, pale,
I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale!
This Desirable Mansion
© Edith Nesbit
THE long white windows blankly stare
Across the sodden, tangled grass,
The Linden On The Lawn
© William Barnes
No! Jenny, there's noo pleäce to charm
My mind lik' yours at Woakland farm,
The Last Three From Trafalgar At The Anniversary Banquet, st October -
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
IN grappled ships around The Victory,
Three boys did England's Duty with stout cheer,
The Cloak
© Ezra Pound
Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf
Till the rose-time will be over,
Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee?
Think'st thou that the Dark House
Will find thee such a lover
As I? Will the new roses miss thee?
The Ebb Of War
© Robert Laurence Binyon
In the seven--times taken and re--taken town
Peace! The mind stops; sense argues against sense.
The August sun is ghostly in the street
As if the Silence of a thousand years
The Death Of Day
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Full of hours, the Day is falling
Where its brethren lie,--
A stern and royal voice is calling
The beautiful to die.
The Garden Of Dreams
© Bliss William Carman
MY heart is a garden of dreams
Where you walk when day is done,
Fair as the royal flowers,
Calm as the lingering sun.
Two Visits To A Grave
© Richard Monckton Milnes
I stood by the grave of one beloved,
On a chill and windless night,--
When not a blade of grass was moved,
In its rigid sheath of white.
The Joy Of Life.
© Robert Crawford
I have the man's-heart in me, and 'tis noble
To be alive, to think, to feel, to have
My part in all the precious come-and-go
Of all things here. My very blood's a-tune
To Mr. Addison on His Tragedy of Cato
© Thomas Tickell
Too long hath love engross'd Britannia's stage,
And sunk to softness all our tragic rage:
The Helot
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Low the sun beat on the land,
Red on vine and plain and wood;
With the wine-cup in his hand,
Vast the Helot herdsman stood.
The Passionate Pilgrim
© William Shakespeare
Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me bath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.
Thanksgiving
© James Whitcomb Riley
Let us be thankful--not only because
Since last our universal thanks were told
We have grown greater in the world's applause,
And fortune's newer smiles surpass the old--
The Immortality Of Rome
© Richard Monckton Milnes
``Urbi et Orbi,''--mystic euphony,
What depth of Christian meaning lies in Thee!
How, from this world apart, this world above,
Selected by a special will of Love,
The Raspberry Room by Karin Gottshall: American Life in Poetry #126 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate
© Ted Kooser
The British writer Virginia Woolf wrote about the pleasures of having a room of one's own. Here the Vermont poet Karin Gottshall shows us her own sort of private place.
The Dog
© Archibald Lampman
Then flung we balls, and out and clear away,
Up the white slope, across the crusted snow,
To where a broken fence stands in the way,
Against the sky-line, a mere row of pegs,
Quicker than thought we saw him flash and go,
A straight mad scuttling of four crooked legs.
The Song
© Lola Ridge
That day, in the slipping of torsos and straining flanks
on the bloodied ooze of fields plowed by the iron,
To Winter In The Midst Of His Reign
© William Baylebridge
Thou grim physician, armed with septic shears,
Thou that dissemblest even in death's repose
