Poems begining by T
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The Pass Of The Sierra
© John Greenleaf Whittier
ALL night above their rocky bed
They saw the stars march slow;
The wild Sierra overhead,
The desert's death below.
Telling the Bees
© Lizette Woodworth Reese
A Colonial Custom
Bathsheba came out to the sun,
Out to our wallèd cherry-trees;
The tears adown her cheek did run,
Bathsheba standing in the sun,
Telling the bees.
The Fisherman's Tomb
© Sappho
Over the fisher Pelagon Meniscus his father set
The oar worn by the wave, the trap, and the fishing net;--
For all men, and for ever, memorials there to be
Of the luckless life of the fisher, the labourer of the sea.
The Princess: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal
© Alfred Tennyson
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.
The Sea-Shore
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
I SHOULD like to dwell where the deep blue sea
Rock'd to and fro as tranquilly,
As if it were willing the halcyon's nest
Should shelter through summer its beautiful guest.
The Homes Of Joy
© Edgar Albert Guest
I LIKE the homes where a Teddy Bear
Monopolizes the best arm chair,
Where the sofa a rag doll occupies
And a train of cars in the corner lies;
For those are the signs that the home is glad
With a little girl or a little lad.
The Little Old-Fashioned Church
© Edgar Albert Guest
THE little old-fashioned church, with the pews that were straight-backed and plain,
Where the sunbeams to worship came in through the windows that bore not a stain,
And the choir was composed of the good folks who toiled week-days in meadow and lane;
The Village: Book I
© George Crabbe
The village life, and every care that reigns
O'er youthful peasants and declining swains;
The Minks
© Toi Derricotte
In the backyard of our house on Norwood,
there were five hundred steel cages lined up,
The Peacemaker
© Harriet Monroe
To the world-wanderer Samarkand is near,
The broad Pacific but a narrow strait.
The Visitor
© Carolyn Forche
In Spanish he whispers there is no time left.
It is the sound of scythes arcing in wheat,
The Diplomatic Platypus
© Patrick Barrington
I had a duck-billed platypus when I was up at Trinity,
With whom I soon discovered a remarkable affinity.
The Silent Tide
© David MacDonald Ross
So, to my heart, when the last sunray sleeps,
And the wan night, impatient for the moon,
Throws her gray mantle over land and sea,
There comes a call from out Life's nether deeps,
And tides, like some old ocean in a swoon,
Flow out, in soundless majesty, to thee.
The Last Evening
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Over sea the sun in a mystery of light
Burns across the waters, on the blown spray glancing:
Luminously crested, wave behind wave advancing
Pours its rushing foam with low continual roar.
The Boy and the Mantle
© Thomas Percy
In the third day of May,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.
Time
© George MacDonald
A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit auld carl
Gangs a' nicht rakin athort the warl
Tam O 'Shanter
© Robert Burns
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses.)
To my Dear Friend Mr. Congreve on his Comedy Call'd the Double Dealer
© John Dryden
Well then; the promis'd hour is come at last;
The present age of wit obscures the past:
The Fair
© Ronald Stuart Thomas
Is generated by the smooth flow
Of the shillings. This is an orchestra
Of steel with the constant percussion
Of laughter. But where he should be laughing
Too, his features are split open, and look!
Out of the cracks come warm, human tears.
