Poems begining by T
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The Heart
© Arthur Symons
Why are you land to me now,
You who were once so unkind?
I will tell you why you are kind to me now.
To A Disciple Of William Morris
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Stand fast by the ideal. Hero be,
You in your youth, as he from youth to age.
Dare to be last, least, in good modesty,
Nor fret thy soul for speedier heritage.
The Wind-Struck Music
© Robinson Jeffers
Ed Stiles and old Tom Birnam went up to their cattle on the
bare hills
The Glare! The Heat!
© Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
The glare! The heat! O Nice, you blind me!
A dull unease upon me settles…
The Ship Of Rio
© Walter de la Mare
There was a ship of Rio
Sailed out into the blue,
And nine and ninety monkeys
Were all her jovial crew.
The Glory That Slumbered In The Granite Rock
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A granite rock on the mountain side
Gazed on the world and was satisfied;
That Other Maud Muller
© James Whitcomb Riley
Maud Muller worked at making hay,
And cleared her forty cents a day.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXIX
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
SIBYLLINE BOOKS
When first, a boy, at your fair knees I kneeled,
'Twas with a worthy offering. In my hand
My young life's book I held, a volume sealed,
The Day's March
© Robert Nichols
The battery grides and jingles,
Mile succeeds to mile;
Shaking the noonday sunshine
The guns lunge out awhile,
And then are still awhile.
The Treadmill Song
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
The stars are rolling in the sky,
The earth rolls on below,
This Unimportant Morning
© Lawrence Durrell
This unimportant morning
Something goes singing where
The capes turn over on their sides
And the warm Adriatic rides
Her blue and sun washing
At the edge of the world and its brilliant cliffs.
The Poor Voter On Election Day
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE proudest now is but my peer,
The highest not more high;
To-day, of all the weary year,
A king of men am I.
The Colder The Air
© Elizabeth Bishop
We must admire her perfect aim,
this huntress of the winter air
whose level weapon needs no sight,
if it were not that everywhere
her game is sure, her shot is right.
The least of us could do the same.
Tournesol
© André Breton
La voyageuse qui traverse les Halles à la tombée de l'été
Marchait sur la pointe des pieds
The Right to Die
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I have no fancy for that ancient cant
That makes us masters of our destinies,
The Herb Of Grace
© Elsie Cole
Find some freckled fern seed to sprinkle in your shoes
And you may step invisible down the peopled street,
The Troubadour. Canto 3
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
But sadness moved him when he gave
DE VALENCE to his lowly grave,--
The grave where the wild flowers were sleeping,
And one pale olive-tree was weeping,--
And placed the rude stone cross to show
A Christian hero lay below.
Thanksgiving
© William Stanley Braithwaite
MY heart gives thanks for many things;
For strength to labor day by day,
To The King Of Macedonia
© George Moses Horton
Thou may'st with pleasure hail the dawn,
And greet the morning's eye;
Remember, king, the night comes on,
The fleeting day will soon be gone,
Not distant, loud proclaims the funeral tone,
Phillip, thou hast to die.
The Romance Of Britomarte ~~~
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
I'll tell you a story; but pass the "jack",
And let us make merry to-night, my men.
Aye, those were the days when my beard was black -
I like to remember them now and then -
