Poems begining by T
/ page 408 of 916 /
The Quality of Mercy
© William Shakespeare
The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
The Phoenix and the Turtle
© William Shakespeare
Let the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold (Sonnet 73)
© William Shakespeare
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
The Swallow
© John Clare
Pretty swallow, once again
Come and pass me in the rain.
Pretty swallow, why so shy?
Pass again my window by.
Two O'Clock
© Christopher Morley
So all things end: and what is left at last?
Some scribbled sonnets tossed upon the floor,
A memory of easy days gone past,
A run-down watch, a pipe, some clothes we wore-
And in the darkened room I lean to know
How her dreamless breath doth pause and flow.
The New Year's Gift To Phyllis
© Matthew Prior
The circling months begin this day
To run their yearly ring,
To John Keats, Poet, At Spring Time
© Countee Cullen
I cannot hold my peace, John Keats;
There never was a spring like this;
It is an echo, that repeats
My last year's song and next year's bliss.
The Dream
© Mikhail Lermontov
In noon's heat, in a dale of Dagestan
With lead inside my breast, stirless I lay;
The deep wound still smoked on; my blood
Kept trickling drop by drop away.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
We vex each other with our presence, I
By my regrets and by my mocking face,
You by your laughter and mad gaiety,
The Mango-Tree
© Charles Kingsley
He wiled me through the furzy croft;
He wiled me down the sandy lane.
He told his boy's love, soft and oft,
Until I told him mine again.
The Poets Trust In His Sorrow
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O GOD! how sad a doom is mine,
To human seeming:
Thou hast called on me to resign
So much--much!--all--but the divine
The Comrade
© Edith Wharton
And I have climbed with you by hidden ways
To meet the dews of morning, and have seen
The shy gods like retreating shadows fade,
Or on the thymy reaches have surprised
Old Chiron sleeping, and have waked him not . . .
The Pastoral Letter
© John Greenleaf Whittier
So, this is all, the utmost reach
Of priestly power the mind to fetter!
When laymen think, when women preach,
A war of words, a "Pastoral Letter!"
The Coming of Winter
© Archibald Lampman
Out of the Northland sombre weirds are calling;
A shadow falleth southward day by day;
Sad summers arms grow cold; his fire is falling;
His feet draw back to give the stern one way.
The Mother's Son
© Rudyard Kipling
I have a dream - a dreadful dream -
A dream that is never done.
I watch a man go out of his mind,
And he is My Mother's Son.
The Two Swans (A Fairy Tale)
© Thomas Hood
I
Immortal Imogen, crown'd queen above
The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear
A fairy dream in honor of true love
The Shadow On The Blind
© William Henry Ogilvie
Last night I walked among the lamps that gleamed,
And saw a shadow on a window blind,
A moving shadow; and the picture seemed
To call some scene to mind.
