Poems begining by T

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The Homesteader

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

WIND-SWEPT and fire-swept and swept with bitter rain,
  This was the world I came to when I came across the sea--
Sun-drenched and panting, a pregnant, waiting plain
  Calling out to humankind, calling out to me!

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The Toad And Spyder. A Duell

© Richard Lovelace

  The all-confounded toad doth see
His life fled with his remedie,
And in a glorious despair
First burst himself, and next the air;
Then with a dismal horred yell
Beats down his loathsome breath to hell.

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The Talented Man

© Winthrop Mackworth Praed

DEAR Alice! you'll laugh when you know it, --

Last week, at the Duchess's ball,

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The Bad Old Days

© Kenneth Rexroth

The summer of nineteen eighteen

I read The Jungle and The

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The Wheel Revolves

© Kenneth Rexroth

You were a girl of satin and gauze

Now you are my mountain and waterfall companion. 

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The Fair Youth Sonnets (18 - 77, 87 - 126)

© William Shakespeare

Comprising the largest grouping of poems, the Fair Youth sonnets are addressed to the same young man in the Procreation Sonnets. But their themes and subjects are more drastically varied.

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The Place for No Story

© Robinson Jeffers

The coast hills at Sovranes Creek;

No trees, but dark scant pasture drawn thin

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The French Revolution as It Appeared to Enthusiasts at Its Commencement

© André Breton

Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!

For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood

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The Arrival

© Patricia Goedicke

Luggage first, the lining of his suit jacket dangling
As always, just when you’d given up hope
Nimbly he backs out of the taxi

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The Young

© Roddy Lumsden

You bastards! It’s all sherbet, and folly 
makes you laugh like mules. Chances 
dance off your wrists, each day ready, 

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The Closed Door

© Madison Julius Cawein

SHUT it out of the heart — this grief,
O Love, with the years grown old and hoary!
And let in joy that life is brief,
And give God thanks for the end of the story.

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The Damned

© Roddy Lumsden

Kitten curious, or roaring down drinks 
in Soho sumps, small hours tour buses, 
satellite station green rooms, or conked 

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The Murder of William Remington

© Howard Nemerov

It is true, that even in the best-run state 
Such things will happen; it is true,
What’s done is done. The law, whereby we hate 
Our hatred, sees no fire in the flue
But by the smoke, and not for thought alone 
It punishes, but for the thing that’s done.

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The Bwoat

© William Barnes

Where cows did slowly seek the brink

  O' _Stour_, drough zunburnt grass, to drink;

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To Mrs. Leonard on The Death of Her Husband

© Phillis Wheatley

GRIM Monarch! see depriv'd of vital breath,

A young Physician in the dust of death!

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To My Cottage

© John Clare

Thou lowly cot where first my breath I drew

Past joys endear thee childhoods past delight

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The Cane-Bottom’d Chair

© William Makepeace Thackeray

In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars,
And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars,
Away from the world and its toils and its cares,
I’ve a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs.

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To the Terrestrial Globe

© William Schwenck Gilbert

Roll on, thou ball, roll on!

Through pathless realms of Space

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The Brief Journey West

© Howard Nemerov

By the dry road the fathers cough and spit,
This is their room. They are the ones who hung 
That bloody sun upon the southern wall 
And crushed the armored beetle to the floor.

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The Deserted Village

© Mark van Doren

Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain,


Where health and plenty cheared the labouring swain,