Poems begining by T
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The Jolly Dead March
© Henry Lawson
If I ever be worthy or famous
Which Im sadly beginning to doubt
The Laureate
© Robert Graves
Like a lizard in the sun, though not scuttling
When men approach, this wretch, this thing of rage,
Scowls and sits rhyming in his horny age.
To My Brooklet. (From The French Of Ducis)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thou brooklet, all unknown to song,
Hid in the covert of the wood!
Ah, yes, like thee I fear the throng,
Like thee I love the solitude.
To Mrs. Goodchild
© Charles Stuart Calverley
The night-wind's shriek is pitiless and hollow,
The boding bat flits by on sullen wing,
And I sit desolate, like that "one swallow"
Who found (with horror) that he'd not brought spring:
Lonely as he who erst with venturous thumb
Drew from its pie-y lair the solitary plum.
The Fatherland
© James Russell Lowell
Where is the true man's fatherland?
Is it where he by chance is born?
Doth not the yearning spirit scorn
In such scant borders to be spanned?
Oh yes! his fatherland must be
As the blue heaven wide and free!
Truth, Not Form!
© George MacDonald
I came upon a fountain on my way
When it was hot, and sat me down to drink
The Shakedown on the Floor
© Henry Lawson
Set me back for twenty summers
For Im tired of cities now
The Wood
© Madison Julius Cawein
Witch-hazel, dogwood, and the maple here;
And there the oak and hickory;
Linn, poplar, and the beech-tree, far and near
As the eased eye can see.
The Vision Of Echard
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The Benedictine Echard
Sat by the wayside well,
Where Marsberg sees the bridal
Of the Sarre and the Moselle.
To His Father
© Robinson Jeffers
Christ was your lord and captain all your life,
He fails the world but you he did not fail,
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. Interlude III.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
He ended: and a kind of spell
Upon the silent listeners fell.
The Poet's Song
© Archibald Lampman
There came no change from week to week
On all the land, but all one way,
Like ghosts that cannot touch nor speak,
Day followed day.
The Vintage To The Dungeon. A Song
© Richard Lovelace
I.
Sing out, pent soules, sing cheerefully!
Care shackles you in liberty:
Mirth frees you in captivity.
Would you double fetters adde?
Else why so sadde?
The Old M en
© Rudyard Kipling
This is our lot if we live so long and labour unto the end
Then we outlive the impatient years and the much too patient friend:
And because we know we have breath in our mouth and think we have thoughts enough in our head,
We shall assume that we are alive, whereas we are really dead.
The Responsibility Of Fatherhood
© Edgar Albert Guest
BEFORE you came, my little lad,
I used to think that I was good,
Tree, Old Tree Of The Triple Crook
© William Ernest Henley
Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Crook
And the rope of the Black Election,
The Hostile Brothers
© Heinrich Heine
Yonder, on the mountain summit,
Lies the castle wrapped in night;
In the valley gleam the sparkles
Struck from clashing swords in fight.
The Angel In The House. Book I. Canto VI.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
IV A Riddle Solved
Kind souls, you wonder why, love you,
When you, you wonder why, love none.
We love, Fool, for the good we do,
Not that which unto us is done!
