Poems begining by T
/ page 478 of 916 /
The Waste Land
© Thomas Stearns Eliot
“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
The Bubble
© William Allingham
See the pretty planet!
Floating sphere!
Faintest breeze will fan it
Far or near;
To Wilhelmina
© Sidney Lanier
A white face, drooping, on a bending neck:
A tube-rose that with heavy petal curves
Her stem: a foam-bell on a wave that swerves
Back from the undulating vessel's deck.
The Amaranth
© Matthew Rohrer
is an imaginary flower that never fades.
The amaranth is blue with black petals,
Twas Summer
© Walther von der Vogelweide
All care was banished, and repose
Came o'er my wearied breast;
And kingdoms seemed to wait on me,
For I was with the blest.
The House of Life: 66. The Heart of the Night
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
The Exile Of Erin
© Thomas Campbell
There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill:
The College Colonel
© Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
He rides at their head;
A crutch by his saddle just slants in view,
The Farm
© Joyce Sutphen
My father’s farm is an apple blossomer.
He keeps his hills in dandelion carpet
The Fountain
© Charles Baudelaire
The sheer luminous gown
The fountain wears
Where Phoebe’s very own
Color appears
Falls like a summer rain
Or shawl of tears.
The Jungfrau To Beth
© Louisa May Alcott
God bless you, dear Queen Bess!
May nothing you dismay,
But health and peace and happiness
Be yours, this Christmas day.
The Lotos-eaters
© Alfred Tennyson
"Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land,
"This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon."
The Eve Of The Bridal
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
YES! it has come; the strange, o'ermastering hour,
When buoyant hopes, and tender, tremulous fears
Sway the full heart with a divided power,
The flush of sunshine, and the touch of tears!
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: IX
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
ON HER WAYWARDNESS
This is rank slavery. It better were
To till the thankless earth with sweat of brow,
Following dull oxen 'neath a goad of care
The Couriers
© Sylvia Plath
The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?
It is not mine. Do not accept it.
The Idea of Order at Key West
© Edwin Muir
For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.
The Ready Artists
© Edgar Albert Guest
The green is in the meadow and the blue is in the sky,
And all of Nature's artists have their colors handy by;
With a few days bright with sunshine and a few nights free from frost
They will start to splash their colors quite regardless of the cost.
There's an artist waiting ready at each bleak and dismal spot
To paint the flashing tulip or the meek forget-me-not.
