Poems begining by T
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The Pennycandystore Beyond The El
© Lawrence Ferlinghetti
A girl ran in
Her hair was rainy
Her breasts were breathless in the little room
The Joy of Incompleteness
© Anonymous
If all our life were one broad glare
Of sunlight, clear, unclouded;
If all our path were smooth and fair,
By no soft gloom enshrouded;
To The Nightingale
© Frances Anne Kemble
How passing sad! Listen, it sings again!
Art thou a spirit that, amongst the boughs,
The Myth of Arthur
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
O learned man who never learned to learn,
Save to deduce, by timid steps and small,
The Happy Husband
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Oft, oft, methinks, the while with thee
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear
And dedicated bame, I hear
A promise and a mystery,
A pledge of more than passing life,
Yea, in that very name of wife!
The Caffer
© Thomas Pringle
Lo! where he crouches by the cleugh's dark side,
Eyeing the farmer's lowing herds afar;
To a Lady on Her Remarkable Preservation
© Phillis Wheatley
Though thou did'st hear the tempest from afar,
And felt'st the horrors of the wat'ry war,
To me unknown, yet on this peaceful shore
Methinks I hear the storm tumultuous roar,
To A Lady On The Death Of The Three Relations
© Phillis Wheatley
WE trace the pow'r of Death from tomb to tomb,
And his are all the ages yet to come.
'Tis his to call the planets from on high,
To blacken Phoebus, and dissolve the sky;
To the Rev. Dr. Thomas Amory
© Phillis Wheatley
The warmest blessings which a muse can give,
And when this transitory state is o'er,
When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame's no more,
May Amory triumph in immortal fame,
A nobler title, and superior name!
To His Honour the Lieutenant-Governor
© Phillis Wheatley
All-Conquering Death! by thy resistless pow'r,
Hope's tow'ring plumage falls to rise no more!
Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly,
Forget their splendors, and submit to die!
To Captain H-----d, of the 65th Regiment
© Phillis Wheatley
Say, muse divine, can hostile scenes delight
The warrior's bosom in the fields of fight?
Lo! here the christian and the hero join
With mutual grace to form the man divine.
To a Gentleman on His Voyage to Great-Britain
© Phillis Wheatley
While others chant of gay Elysian scenes,
Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow'ry plains,
My song more happy speaks a greater name,
Feels higher motives and a nobler flame.
Thoughts On The Works Of Providence
© Phillis Wheatley
A R I S E, my soul, on wings enraptur'd, rise
To praise the monarch of the earth and skies,
Whose goodness and benificence appear
As round its centre moves the rolling year,
To The Honourable T. H. Esq; On the Death Of His Daughter
© Phillis Wheatley
WHILE deep you mourn beneath the cypress-shade
The hand of Death, and your dear daughter
laid
In dust, whose absence gives your tears to flow,
To The Right Honourable William, Earl Of Dartmouth, His Majesty's Principal Secretary Of The State For North-America,
© Phillis Wheatley
HAIL, happy day, when, smiling like the morn,
Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn:
The northern clime beneath her genial ray,
Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway:
To The King's Most Excellent Majesty
© Phillis Wheatley
YOUR subjects hope, dread Sire--
The crown upon your brows may flourish long,
And that your arm may in your God be strong!
O may your sceptre num'rous nations sway,
To a Lady and Her Children
© Phillis Wheatley
What blissful wonders to his mind unfold!
But of celestial joys I sing in vain:
Attempt not, muse, the too advent'rous strain.
To The University Of Cambridge, In New-England
© Phillis Wheatley
WHILE an intrinsic ardor prompts to write,
The muses promise to assist my pen;
'Twas not long since I left my native shore
The land of errors, and Egyptain gloom:
To Mæcenas
© Phillis Wheatley
Mæcenas, you, beneath the myrtle shade,
Read o'er what poets sung, and shepherds play'd.
What felt those poets but you feel the same?
Does not your soul possess the sacred flame?
Their noble strains your equal genius shares
In softer language, and diviner airs.
The Harper
© James Whitcomb Riley
Like a drift of faded blossoms
Caught in a slanting rain,
His fingers glimpsed down the strings of his harp
In a tremulous refrain:
