Poems begining by T
/ page 453 of 916 /
The Cypress Broke
© Mahmoud Darwish
The cypress is the tree’s grief and not
the tree, and it has no shadow because it is
the tree’s shadow
Bassam Hajjar
There Are Black
© James Russell Lowell
And the convicts themselves, at the mummy’s
feet, blood-splattered leather, at this one’s feet,
they become cobras sucking life out of their brothers,
they fight for rings and money and drugs,
in this pit of pain their teeth bare fangs,
to fight for what morsels they can. . . .
Theodicy
© Czeslaw Milosz
No, it won’t do, my sweet theologians.
Desire will not save the morality of God.
The Rose
© Jean Valentine
Then god the mother said to Jim, in a dream,
Never mind you, Jim,
come rest again on the country porch of my knees.
The Snow-Shower
© William Cullen Bryant
Stand here by my side and turn, I pray,
On the lake below, thy gentle eyes;
The Bachelor’s Soliloquy
© Edgar Albert Guest
To wed, or not to wed; that is the question;
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
To a Young Lady, Netting
© Thomas Love Peacock
While those bewitching hands combine,
With matchless grace, the silken line,
Étude Réaliste
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
(excerpt)
I
A baby's feet, like sea-shells pink,
Might tempt, should heaven see meet,
An angel's lips to kiss, we think,
A baby's feet.
The Drought
© Gary Soto
The clouds shouldered a path up the mountains
East of Ocampo, and then descended,
Scraping their bellies gray on the cracked shingles of slate.
To J. S.
© Alfred Tennyson
The wind, that beats the mountain, blows
More softly round the open wold,
And gently comes the world to those
That are cast in gentle mould.
The Stars Are
© Samuel Menashe
Why sigh for a star
Better bay at the moon
Better bay at the moon . . .
Oh moon, moon, moon
The Anniversary
© John Donne
All Kings, and all their favourites,
All glory of honours, beauties, wits,
The Bat
© Ellen Bryant Voigt
Reading in bed, full of sentiment
for the mild evening and the children
To James Fenton
© John Fuller
The poet’s duties: no need to stress
The subject’s dullness, nonetheless
Here’s an incestuous address
In Robert Burns’ style
To one whom all the Muses bless
At Great Turnstile.
Tenebrae
© Geoffrey Hill
Veni Redemptor, but not in our time.
Christus Resurgens, quite out of this world.
‘Ave’ we cry; the echoes are returned.
Amor Carnalis is our dwelling-place.
The Men
© Pablo Neruda
The era's beginning: are these ruined shacks,
these poor schools, these people still in rags and tatters,
this cloddish insecurity of my poor families,
is all this the day? the century's beginning, the golden door?
