Poems begining by T
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To Mr. H. Lawes, On His Airs
© Patrick Kavanagh
Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song
First taught our English music how to span
The Victory
© Anna Akhmatova
Over a pier, the first beacon inflamed --
The vanguard of other sea-rangers;
The mariner cried and bared his head;
He sailed with death beside and ahead
In seas, packed with furious dangers.
The Exiles Secret
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Why tell each idle guess, each whisper vain?
Enough: the scorched and cindered beams remain.
He came, a silent pilgrim to the West,
Some old-world mystery throbbing in his breast;
Close to the thronging mart he dwelt alone;
He lived; he died. The rest is all unknown.
The Sun
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
The sun comes forth; each mountain height
Glows with a tinge of rosy light,
The Squatter's Baccy Famine.
© James Brunton Stephens
IN blackest gloom he cursed his lot;
His breath was one long weary sigh;
The Triumph Of Man
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
I plod and peer amid mean sounds and shapes,
I hunt for dusty gain and dreary praise,
And slowly pass the dismal grinning days,
Monkeying each other like a line of apes.
Theophany
© Evelyn Underhill
Deep cradled in the fringed mow to lie
And feel the rhythmic flux of life sweep by,
The Three Kings [1]
© Henry Lawson
The East is dead and the West is done, and again our course lies thus
South-east by Fate and the Rising Sun where the Three Kings* wait for us.
When our hearts are young and the world is wide, and the heights seem grand to climb
We are off and away to the Sydney-side; but the Three Kings bide their time.
To Marion
© George Gordon Byron
Marion! why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
Two Paintings by Gustav Klimt
© Jorie Graham
Although what glitters
on the trees,
row after perfect row,
is merely
the injustice
of the world,
The Story, Around the Corner
© Naomi Shihab Nye
is not turning the way you thought
it would turn, gently, in a little spiral loop,
The Untamed
© Ronald Stuart Thomas
My garden is the wild
Sea of the grass. Her garden
Shelters between walls.
The tide could break in;
I should be sorry for this.
The People of the Other Village
© Thomas Lux
hate the people of this village
and would nail our hats
The Two Elizabeths
© John Greenleaf Whittier
AMIDST Thuringia's wooded hills she dwelt,
A high-born princess, servant of the poor,
Sweetening with gracious words the food she dealt
To starving throngs at Wartburg's blazoned door.
The City (1925)
© Carl Rakosi
Under this Luxemburg of heaven,
upright capstan,
small eagles. . . .
is the port of N.Y. . . . .
The Garden By Moonlight
© Amy Lowell
A black cat among roses,
Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon,
The Two Goblets
© George Essex Evans
One wine is colourless, the dreamer said.
Who suffer keenest nobler joys attain.
And to the dregs drained from the goblet red
The draught of pain.
To Resignation
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
MAID of the placid smile and heav'nly mien,
With beaming eye, tho' tearful yet serene;
Teach me, like thee, in sorrow's ling'ring hour,
To bless devotion's all-consoling pow'r;
