Poems begining by T
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To William Lloyd Garrison
© John Greenleaf Whittier
CHAMPION of those who groan beneath
Oppression's iron hand:
In view of penury, hate, and death,
I see thee fearless stand.
"The Undying One" - Canto III
© Caroline Norton
"I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!
Tipperary
© Thomas Osborne Davis
Let Britain boast her British hosts,
About them all right little care we;
Not British seas nor British coasts
Can match the Man of Tipperary!
The Reformer
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Hyde Park
August from a vault of hollow brass
Steep upon the sullen city glares.
Yellower burns the sick and parching grass,
Shivering in the breath of furnace airs.
The Idlers Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. May
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE LONDON SEASON
I still love London in the month of May,
By an old habit, spite of dust and din.
I love the fair adulterous world, whose way
The Lew O The Rick
© William Barnes
At eventide the wind wer loud
By trees an' tuns above woone's head,
The Dogs
© Arthur Symons
My desires are upon me like dogs, I beat them back,
Yet they yelp upon my track;
And I know that my soul one day shall lie at their feet.
And my soul be these dogs' meat.
The Road
© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
I stared at the unfolding road,
Beneath the shadow of grand oaks, -
Such a familiar old road,
Surrounded by flower fence.
The Field Of Battle
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
The Deed of Blood is o'er!
And, hark, the Trumpet's mournful breath
Low murmurs round it a Note of Death
The Mighty are no more!
The Homely Pathetic
© Francis Bret Harte
The dews are heavy on my brow;
My breath comes hard and low;
The Road To Cabinteely
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Oh, the lonely road, the road to Cabinteely!
'Tis there I see a little ghost, and gaily singeth she.
The Stricken Hart
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The stricken hart had fled the brake,
His courage spent for life's dear sake.
He came to die beside the lake.
The Wheat And Tares
© John Newton
Though in the outward church below
The wheat and tares together grow;
Jesus ere long will weed the crop,
And pluck the tares, in anger, up.
"That evening the forest of organ pipes did not play"
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
That evening the forest of organ pipes did not play.
A native cradle sang Schubert for us,
The mill was grinding, the music's blue-eyed drunkenness
Laughed in the songs of the hurricane.
The Battle Of Sherramuir
© Robert Burns
"O cam ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
The Nuptials Of Attila
© George Meredith
Hatred of that abject slave,
Earth, was in each chieftain's heart.
Earth has got him, whom God gave,
Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!
Attila, my Attila!
The Supreme Hour
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THERE comes all hour when all life's joys and pains
To our raised vision seem
But as the flickering phantom that remains
Of some dead midnight dream!
The Rancho In The Rain
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
The rabbit's ears are flattened and he's squattin' scared and still,
Ag'inst the dripping cedar; and the quail below the hill
The Land Of Illusion
© Madison Julius Cawein
So we had come at last, my soul and I,
Into that land of shadowy plain and peak,
On which the dawn seemed ever about to break
On which the day seemed ever about to die.
