Poems begining by T
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The Lily of Yorrow
© Henry Van Dyke
DEEP in the heart of the forest the lily of Yorrow is growing;
Blue is its cup as the sky, and with mystical odor oerflowing;
Faintly it falls through the shadowy glades when the south wind is blowing;
The Mourner For The Barmecides
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
"And shall I not rejoice to go, when the noble and the brave,
With the glory on their brows, are gone before me to the grave?
What is there left to look on now, what brightness in the land?–
I hold in scorn the faded world, that wants their princely band!
The Dark That Was Is Here
© Eli Siegel
A girl, in ancient Greece,
Be sure, had no more peace
Than one in Idaho.
To feel and yet to know
The Curve Of Your Eyes
© Paul Eluard
The curve of your eyes embraces my heart
A ring of sweetness and dance
halo of time, sure nocturnal cradle,
And if I no longer know all I have lived through
Its that your eyes have not always been mine.
The Ballad Of Boh Da Thone
© Rudyard Kipling
This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone,
Erst a Pretender to Theebaw's throne,
Who harried the district of Alalone:
How he met with his fate and the V.P.P.
At the hand of Harendra Mukerji,
Senior Gomashta, G.B.T.
The Dead Day
© Madison Julius Cawein
The west builds high a sepulcher
Of cloudy granite and of gold,
Where twilight's priestly hours inter
The Day like some great king of old.
The Spell Is Broke, The Charm Is Flown!
© George Gordon Byron
The spell is broke; the charm is flown!
Thus is it with life's fitful fever:
We madly smile when we should groan:
Delirium is our best deceiver.
The Aerodrome
© Katharine Tynan
So now the aerodrome goes up
Upon my father's fields,
And gone is all the golden crop
And all the pleasant yields.
Taste
© Mark Akenside
What, then, is taste but those internal powers,
Active and strong, and feeling alive
Town And Country
© Edith Nesbit
THE Sun tells to Trafalgar Square
His old and radiant story,
And touches in the young spring air
The pepper-pots to glory.
The Bunch Of Grapes
© George Herbert
Joy, I did lock thee up: but some bad man
Hath let thee out again:
The Willing Horse
© Edgar Albert Guest
I'd rather be the willing horse that people ride to death
Than be the proud and haughty steed that children dare not touch;
The Flitting
© John Clare
I've left my own old home of homes,
Green fields and every pleasant place;
The Foray Of Con ODonnell. A.D. 1495
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
The evening shadows sweetly fall
Along the hills of Donegal,
The Golden Wedding Of Longwood
© John Greenleaf Whittier
With fifty years between you and your well-kept wedding vow,
The Golden Age, old friends of mine, is not a fable now.
The Parting Song
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
The unbelov'd one, for his home to gaze
Through the wild laurels back; but then a light
Broke on the stern proud sadness of his eye,
A sudden quivering light, and from his lips
A burst of passionate song.
"Farewell, farewell!
