Poems begining by T
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The Laurentians
© Frederick George Scott
These mountains once, throned in some primal sea,
Shook half the world with thunder, and the sun
Pierced not the gloom that clung about their crest;
Now with sealed lips, toilers from toil set free,
Unvexed by fate, the part they played being done,
They watch and wait in venerable rest.
The New Year
© Emma Lazarus
Look where the mother of the months uplifts
In the green clearness of the unsunned West,
Her ivory horn of plenty, dropping gifts,
Cool, harvest-feeding dews, fine-winnowed light;
Tired labor with fruition, joy and rest
Profusely to requite.
To Mrs. M. A. Upon Absence
© Katherine Philips
Tis now since I began to die
Four months, yet still I gasping live;
Wrappd up in sorrow do I lie,
Hoping, yet doubting a reprieve.
Adam from Paradise expelld
Just such a wretched being held.
The Truth is Blind
© David Gascoyne
Autumnal breath of mornings far from here
A star veiled in grey mist
A living man:
To Women 27
© Robert Laurence Binyon
From hearts that are as one high heart
Withholding naught from doom and bale
Burningly offered up, to bleed,
To bear, to break, but not to fail !
The Angler's Song
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
From the river's plashy bank,
Where the sedge grows green and rank,
And the twisted woodbine springs,
Upward speeds the morning lark
To its silver cloud -- and hark!
On his way the woodman sings.
The Wreckage
© Donald Hall
At the edge of the city the pickerel
vomits and dies. The river
with its white hair staggers to the sea.
Todesfuge
© Paul Celan
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink in the morning at noon we drink you at sundown
we drink and we drink you
A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete
Your ashen hair Shulamith we dig a grave in the breezes there one lies unconfined.
Thank-you Note
© Judith Viorst
I wanted small pierced earrings (gold).
You gave me slippers (gray).
My mother said that she would scold
Unless I wrote to say
How much I liked them.
The Wattle [No better Right Than I]
© Henry Lawson
I saw it in the days gone by,
When the dead girl lay at rest,
And the wattle and the native rose
We placed upon her breast.
The Pit
© John Fuller
From the beginning, the egg cradled in pebbles,
The drive thick with fledglings, to the known last
Riot of the senses, is only a short pass.
Earth to be forked over is more patient,
Bird hungers more, flower dies sooner.
The Hunting of the Snark
© Lewis Carroll
"Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried,
As he landed his crew with care;
Supporting each man on the top of the tide
By a finger entwined in his hair.
To Jane: The Keen Stars Were Twinkling
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
The keen stars were twinkling,
And the fair moon was rising among them,
Dear Jane.
The Eagle
© Alfred Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
Trying to Write a Poem While the Couple in the Apartment Overhead Make Love
© David Wagoner
She's like a singer straying slowly off key
while trying too hard to remember the words to a song
The Beautiful Land of Nod
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear,
Your head like the golden-rod,
And we will go sailing away from here
To the beautiful Land of Nod.
The Flat-Hunter’s Way
© Edwin Morgan
We don’t get any too much light;
It’s pretty noisy, too, at that;
The Cowboy
© James Tate
Someone had spread an elaborate rumor about me, that I was
in possession of an extraterrestrial being, and I thought I knew who
Tone's Grave
© Thomas Osborne Davis
In Bodenstown Churchyard there is a green grave,
And wildly along it the winter winds rave;
Small shelter, I ween, are the ruined walls there,
When the storm sweeps down on the plains of Kildare.
The Noble Nature
© Benjamin Jonson
It is not growing like a tree
in bulk, doth make Man better be;
or standing long an oak three hundred year,
to fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere;
