Poems begining by T

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To A Caged Lion

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

Poor conquered monarch! though that haughty glance
Still speaks thy courage unsubdued by time,
And in the grandeur of thy sullen tread
Lives the proud spirit of thy burning clime;--
Fettered by things that shudder at thy roar,
Torn from thy pathless wilds to pace this narrow floor!

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Time

© Piet Hein

Does time exist?
I gravely doubt it.
But gosh, what should we do
without it?

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The Bronco

© Henry Herbert Knibbs

The bronco's mighty wild and tough,
And full of outdoor feelin's:
His feet are quick, his ways are rough,
He's careless in his dealin's.

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This Tattered Catechism

© Katharine Lee Bates

THIS tattered catechism weaves a spell,

Invoking from the Long Ago a child

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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 07:

© Conrad Aiken

'The bells have just struck twelve: I should be sleeping.
But I cannot delay any longer to write and tell you.
The woman is dead.
She died—you know the way. Just as we planned.
Smiling, with open sunlit eyes.
Smiling upon the outstretched fatal hand . . .'

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Taking His Place

© Edgar Albert Guest

He's doing double duty now;

Time's silver gleams upon his brow,

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The Pool

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

Here in the night all wonders are,
Lapped in the lift of the ripple's swing,–
A silver shell and a shaken star,
And a white moth's wing.
Here the young moon when the mists unclose
Swims like the bud of a golden rose.

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The Early Bird

© George MacDonald

A little bird sat on the edge of her nest;
Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops;
Day-long she had worked almost without rest,
And had filled every one of their gibbous crops;
Her own she had filled just over-full,
And she felt like a dead bird stuffed with wool.

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The Flowers Of Helicon

© Richard Monckton Milnes

The solitudes of Helicon
Are rife with gay and scented flowers,
Shining the marble rocks upon,
Or 'mid the valley's oaken bowers;

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Tornfallet

© Joseph Brodsky

There is a meadow in Sweden


where I lie smitten,

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To A Lady, Who Presented The Author With The Velvet Band Which Bound Her Tresses

© George Gordon Byron

This Band, which bound thy yellow hair,
  Is mine, sweet girl! Thy pledge of love;
It claims my warmest, dearest care,
  Like relics left of saints above.

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"The Silent Slain"

© Archibald MacLeish

We too, we too, descending once again

The hills of our own land, we too have heard

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The Iron Horse

© James Whitcomb Riley

No song is mine of Arab steed--
  My courser is of nobler blood,
And cleaner limb and fleeter speed,
  And greater strength and hardihood
Than ever cantered wild and free
Across the plains of Araby.

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The Unknown Soldier

© Angela Morgan

He is known to the sun-white Majesties

Who stand at the gates of dawn.

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The Old Man Dreams

© Madison Julius Cawein

The blackened walnut in its spicy hull

  Rots where it fell;

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The School-Mistress

© William Shenstone

Auditae voces, vagitus et ingens,

Infantunque animae flentes in limine primo. ~ Virg.

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The Squanderer

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

God gave him passions, splendid as the sun,

Meant for the lordliest purposes; a part

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Then Give Me a Hut in my Own Native Land

© Anonymous

Then give me a hut in my own native land,
Or a tent in the bush with the mountains so grand;
With the girl of my heart contented I'll be,
With a dear native girl to share it with me.

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The Ride Of Rody Burke

© Alice Guerin Crist

The heat haze veiled the distant hills, the white clouds floated high,
Drifting in slow content across the blue Australian sky;
And down in Clancy’s paddock there were mirth and laughter gay,
Where the She-Oak Jockey Club were met upon St. Patrick’s day.