Poems begining by T

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The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

To Lady Noel Byron

© George MacDonald

Men sought, ambition's thirst to slake,
The lost elixir old
Whose magic touch should instant make
The meaner metals gold.

There isn't any pay for you, you serve without reward,
The boys who tramp the fields with you but little could afford.
And yet your pay is richer far than those who toil for gold,
For in a dozen different ways your service shall be told.

The Banished Spirit's Song

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

Beautiful clime, where I've dwelt so long,
In mirth and music, in gladness and song!
Fairer than aught upon earth art thou-
Beautiful clime, must I leave thee now?

The End of the World

© Dana Gioia

“We're going,” they said, “to the end of the world.”
So they stopped the car where the river curled,
And we scrambled down beneath the bridge
On the gravel track of a narrow ridge.

The Woman Who Laughed on Calvary

© Heather McHugh

I emulated there, in that
Godawful place. What kind
of face

The Princess: Home they Brought her Warrior Dead

© Alfred Tennyson

Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
"She must weep or she will die."

The Unquiet Grave

© Pierre Reverdy

The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.

The Wood-Cutter's Night Song

© John Clare

Welcome, red and roundy sun,
Dropping lowly in the west;
Now my hard day's work is done,
I'm as happy as the best.

The Description Of Sir Geoffrey Chaucer

© Robert Greene

HIS stature was not very tall,

Lean he was, his legs were small,

The Hut by the Black Swamp

© Henry Kendall

Now comes the fierce north-easter, bound
About with clouds and racks of rain,
And dry, dead leaves go whirling round
In rings of dust, and sigh like pain
Across the plain.

The Retreat From Moscow

© Victor Marie Hugo

It snowed. A defeat was our conquest red!

For once the eagle was hanging its head.

The Moonlit Room

I know a room that's dark in daytime hours;
No sunbeams light it,
Whether in months of gloom or months of flowers,
So people slight it.

The Gift

© Li-Young Lee

To pull the metal splinter from my palm
my father recited a story in a low voice.
I watched his lovely face and not the blade.
Before the story ended, he’d removed
the iron sliver I thought I’d die from.

These Lacustrine Cities

© John Ashbery

These lacustrine cities grew out of loathing
Into something forgetful, although angry with history.
They are the product of an idea: that man is horrible, for instance,
Though this is only one example.

Two Little Dickie Birds

Two little dickie birds sitting on a wall,
One named Peter, one named Paul.
Fly away, Peter! Fly away, Paul!
Come back, Peter! Come back, Paul!

The Sheets

Smudged here with betel juice, burnished there
with aloe paste, a splash of powder in one corner,
and lacquer from footprints embroidered in another,
with flowers from her hair strewn all over
its winding crumpled folds, the sheets celebrate
the joy of making love to a woman in every position.