Poems begining by T
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[The Doleful Lay of Clorinda]
© Mary Sidney Herbert
Ay me, to whom shall I my case complain,
That may compassion my impatient grief?
Tho Lack of Laurels and of Wreaths Not One
© Trumbull Stickney
Tho lack of laurels and of wreaths not one
Prove you our lives abortive, shall we yet
The March into Virginia Ending in the First Manassas (July, 1861)
© Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
All they feel is this: ’tis glory,
A rapture sharp, though transitory,
Yet lasting in belaureled story.
So they gayly go to fight,
Chatting left and laughing right.
To the Poetry* of Hugh McCrae
© Kenneth Slessor
Uncles who burst on childhood, from the East,
Blown from air, like bearded ghosts arriving,
And are, indeed, a kind of guessed-at ghost
Through mumbled names at dinner-tables moving,
The Metal and the Flower
© P. K. Page
Intractable between them grows
a garden of barbed wire and roses.
Burning briars like flames devour
their too innocent attire.
Dare they meet, the blackened wire
tears the intervening air.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
© William Butler Yeats
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
The Dead
© Don Paterson
Our business is with fruit and leaf and bloom;
though they speak with more than just the season's tongue—
The Rain-bow
© Thomas Love Peacock
The day has pass’d in storms, though not unmix’d
With transitory calm. The western clouds,
The Disabled Debauchee
© John Wilmot
As some brave admiral, in former war
Deprived of force, but pressed with courage still,
Two rival fleets appearing from afar,
Crawls to the top of an adjacent hill;
There Is No Word
© Tony Hoagland
There isn’t a word for walking out of the grocery store
with a gallon jug of milk in a plastic sack
that should have been bagged in double layers
To My Father on His Birthday
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Amidst the days of pleasant mirth,
That throw their halo round our earth;
The Apparition
© Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
(A Retrospect)
Convulsions came; and, where the field
Long slept in pastoral green,
A goblin-mountain was upheaved
(Sure the scared sense was all deceived),
Marl-glen and slag-ravine.
The Two Children
© Emily Jane Brontë
Heavy hangs the raindrop
From the burdened spray;
Heavy broods the damp mist
On uplands far away;
"This living hand, now warm and capable"
© John Keats
This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
[the Night That Lorca Comes]
© Bob Kaufman
THE NIGHT THAT LORCA COMES
SHALL BE A STRANGE NIGHT IN THE
The House of Rest
© Julia Ward Howe
I will build a house of rest,
Square the corners every one:
At each angle on his breast
Shall a cherub take the sun;
Rising, risen, sinking, down,
Weaving day’s unequal crown.
The Lie
© Anne Waldman
Art begins with a lie
The separation is you plus me plus what we make
Look into lightbulb, blink, sun’s in your eye
The Chimney Sweeper: A little black thing among the snow
© William Blake
A little black thing among the snow,
Crying "weep! 'weep!" in notes of woe!
"Where are thy father and mother? say?"
"They are both gone up to the church to pray.
