Poems begining by T
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The Kaiser's Feast
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Why fell there silence on the chord
Beneath the harper's hand?
And suddenly, from that rich board,
Why rose the wassail-band?
The Golden Age
© Bill Knott
is thought to be a confession, won by endless
torture, but which our interrogators must
hate to record—all those old code names, dates,
the standard narrative of sandpaper
throats, even its remorse, fall ignored. Far
The Garden
© Mark Strand
for Robert Penn Warren
It shines in the garden,
in the white foliage of the chestnut tree,
in the brim of my father’s hat
as he walks on the gravel.
The Invitation
© George Herbert
Come ye hither all, whose taste
Is your waste;
Save your cost, and mend your fare.
God is here prepar'd and drest,
And the feast,
God, in whom all dainties are.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Musician's Tale; The Ballad of Carmilhan - III.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The cabin windows have grown blank
As eyeballs of the dead;
No more the glancing sunbeams burn
On the gilt letters of the stern,
But on the figure-head;
Trasmutase Mi Alma...
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
Trasmútase mi alma en tu presencia
como un florecimiento,
que se vuelve cosecha.
To the Fair Clorinda
© Aphra Behn
Thou beauteous Wonder of a different kind,
Soft Cloris with the dear Alexis join’d;
When e’er the Manly part of thee, wou’d plead
Thou tempts us with the Image of the Maid,
While we the noblest Passions do extend
The Love to Hermes, Aphrodite the Friend.
The Frogs
© Archibald Lampman
Often to me who heard you in your day,
With close wrapt ears, it could not choose but seem
That earth, our mother, searching in that way,
Men's hearts might know her spirit's inmost dream,
Ever at rest beneath life's change and stir,
Made you her soul, and bade you pipe for her.
The Boston Evening Transcript
© Thomas Stearns Eliot
The readers of the Boston Evening Transcript
Sway in the wind like a field of ripe corn.
The Last Redoubt
© Alfred Austin
Kacelyevo's slope still felt
The cannon's bolt and the rifles' pelt;
For a last redoubt up the hill remained,
By the Russ yet held, by the Turk not gained.
To Eleonora Duse II
© Sara Teasdale
Your beauty lives in mystic melodies,
And all the light about you breathes a song.
Your voice awakes the dreaming airs that throng
Within our music-haunted memories.
The Fatal Sisters: An Ode
© Thomas Gray
(FROM THE NORSE TONGUE)
Now the storm begins to lower,
(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare.)
Iron-sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles in the darken'd air.
Tell's Birth-Place. Imitated From Stolberg
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I.
Mark this holy chapel well!
The birth-place, this, of William Tell.
Here, where stands God's altar dread,
Stood his parent's marriage-bed.
The Whole Mess ... Almost
© Gregory Corso
I ran up six flights of stairs
to my small furnished room
opened the window
and began throwing out
those things most important in life
The Owl and The Bell
© George MacDonald
Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!
Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home,
High in the church-tower, lone and unseen,
In a twilight of ivy, cool and green;
With his Bing, Bing, Bim, Bing, Bang, Bome!
Singing bass to himself in his house at home.
The Child Of The Islands - Summer
© Caroline Norton
I.
FOR Summer followeth with its store of joy;
That, too, can bring thee only new delight;
Its sultry hours can work thee no annoy,
