Poems begining by T
/ page 429 of 916 /
This Compost.
© Walt Whitman
1
SOMETHING startles me where I thought I was safest;
I withdraw from the still woods I loved;
I will not go now on the pastures to walk;
To Think of Time.
© Walt Whitman
1
TO think of timeof all that retrospection!
To think of to-day, and the ages continued henceforward!
To a Stranger.
© Walt Whitman
PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recalld as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
To a Historian.
© Walt Whitman
YOU who celebrate bygones!
Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the racesthe life that has
exhibited itself;
Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates, rulers and
Thought.
© Walt Whitman
OF what I write from myselfAs if that were not the resumé;
Of HistoriesAs if such, however complete, were not less complete than the preceding
poems;
As if those shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as the preceding
poems;
As if here were not the amount of all nations, and of all the lives of heroes.
To Foreign Lands.
© Walt Whitman
I HEARD that you askd for something to prove this puzzle, the New World,
And to define America, her athletic Democracy;
Therefore I send you my poems, that you behold in them what you wanted.
To You.
© Walt Whitman
STRANGER! if you, passing, meet me, and desire to speak to me, why should you
not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?
Twelve Years
© Paul Celan
The line
that remained, that
became true: . . . your
house in Paris -- become
the alterpiece of your hands.
Transcription Of Organ Music
© Allen Ginsberg
The flower in the glass peanut bottle formerly in the
kitchen crooked to take a place in the light,
the closet door opened, because I used it before, it
kindly stayed open waiting for me, its owner.
Teeth sensitive to the sand
© Matsuo Basho
Teeth sensitive to the sand
in salad greens--
I'm getting old.
The old pond
© Matsuo Basho
Following are several translations
of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be
the most famous of all haiku:
Tree
© Richard Jones
When the sun goes down
I have my first drink
standing in the yard,
talking to my neighbor
The Road
© Richard Jones
I, too, would ease my old car to a stop
on the side of some country road
and count the stars or admire a sunset
or sit quietly through an afternoon....
The Chambermaid's First Song
© William Butler Yeats
How came this ranger
Now sunk in rest,
Stranger with strangcr.
On my cold breast?
The Unappeasable Host
© William Butler Yeats
The Danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,
And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,
For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,
With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold:
