Poems begining by T
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The Ideal
© Frances Anne Kemble
Thou shalt behold it once, and once believe
Thou may'st possess itLove shall make the dream,
To My Brothers
© Norman Rowland Gale
O BROTHERS, who must ache and stoop
Oer wordy tasks in London town,
Teresinas Face
© Margaret Widdemer
He saw it last of all before they herded in the steerage,
Dark against the sunset where he lingered by the hold,
The tear-stained dusk-rose face of her, the little Teresina,
Sailing out to lands of gold:
The Dancers: (During A Great Battle, 1916)
© Dame Edith Sitwell
The floors are slippery with blood:
The world gyrates too. God is good
That while His wind blows out the light
For those who hourly die for is
We still can dance each night.
The Net-Menders
© Sylvia Plath
Halfway up from the little harbor of sardine boats,
Halfway down from groves where the thin, bitter almond pips
Fatten in green-pocked pods, the three net-menders sit out,
Dressed in black, everybody in mourning for someone.
They set their stout chairs back to the road and face the dark
Dominoes of their doorways.
The Pastime of Pleasure: Of dysposycyon the II. parte of rethoryke - (til line 1456)
© Stephen Hawes
The seconde parte of crafty rethoryke
Maye well be called dysposycyon
822 That doth so hyghe mater aromatytyke
823 Adowne dystyll / by consolacyon
The Last Survivor
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
YES! the vacant chairs tell sadly we are going, going fast,
And the thought comes strangely o'er me, who will live to be the last?
When the twentieth century's sunbeams climb the far-off eastern hill,
With his ninety winters burdened, will he greet the morning still?
To the Old Gods
© Muriel Stuart
O YE, who rode the gales of Sicily,
Sandalled with flame,
Spread on the pirate winds; o ye who broke
No wind-flower as ye came-
Though Pelion shivered when the thunder spoke
The gods' decree!-
To Maecenas
© Phillis Wheatley
Not you, my friend, these plaintive strains become,
Not you, whose bosom is the Muses home;
When they from tow'ring Helicon retire,
They fan in you the bright immortal fire,
But I less happy, cannot raise the song,
The fault'ring music dies upon my tongue.
Thoughts Of Li Po From The World's End
© Du Fu
Here at the world's end the cold winds are beginning to blow. What messages
have you for me, my master? When will the poor wandering goose arrive? The
rivers and lakes are swollen with autumn's waters. Art detests a too successful
life; and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws. You had better have
a word with the ghost of that other wronged poet. Drop some verses into the
Mi-lo as an offering to him!
The Red-Haired Man
© Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
There was a red-haired man who had no eyes or ears.
Neither did he have any hair, so he was called red-haired theoretically.
The Song Of The Wreck
© Charles Dickens
The wind blew high, the waters raved,
A ship drove on the land,
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXXIX
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
FAREWELL TO JULIET
Juliet, farewell. I would not be forgiven
Even if I forgave. These words must be
The last between us two in Earth or Heaven,
The Evening Darkens Over
© Robert Seymour Bridges
The evening darkens over
After a day so bright,
The windcapt waves discover
That wild will be the night.
There's sound of distant thunder.
The Farmer Talks
© Edgar Albert Guest
HERE 's a letter from John in th' city,
Ain't heard from him now fer a year;
To The Spring
© Frances Anne Kemble
Hail to thee, spirit of hope! whom men call Spring;
Youngest and fairest of the four, who guide
The Dance Of The Seven Deadly Sins
© William Dunbar
Helie harlots on hawtane wise,
Come in with mony sundry guise,
But yet leuch never Mahoun,
While priests come in with bare shaven necks;
Then all the fiends leuch, and made gecks,
Black-Belly and Bawsy Brown.
The French Army In Russia, 1812-13
© William Wordsworth
HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,
Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day,
