Poems begining by T
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To The Dead in the Graveyard Underneath My Window
© Adelaide Crapsey
Written in A Moment of Exasperation
How can you lie so still? All day I watch
The Gift
© Aline Murray Kilmer
HE has taken away the things that I loved best
Love and youth and the harp that knew my hand.
Laughter alone is left of all the rest.
Does He mean that I may fill my days with laughter,
Or will it, too, slip through my fingers like spilt sand?
To the Same Purpose
© Thomas Traherne
To the same purpose: he, not long before
Brought home from nurse, going to the door
Thread
© Jonathan Galassi
Heartworn happiness, fine line that winds
among the tapestry’s old blacks and blues,
To the One Who is Reading Me
© Jorge Luis Borges
You are invulnerable. Didn’t they deliver
(those forces that control your destiny)
The Foggy, Foggy Blue
© Delmore Schwartz
When I was a young man, I loved to write poems
And I called a spade a spade
To Joanna
© William Wordsworth
AMID the smoke of cities did you pass
The time of early youth; and there you learned,
The Picture Book
© Robert Graves
When I was not quite five years old
I first saw the blue picture book,
And Fraulein Spitzenburger told
Stories that sent me hot and cold;
I loathed it, yet I had to look:
It was a German book.
"The Spacious Firmament"
© Joseph Addison
In Reason's Ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious Voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
The Hand that made us is Divine.
The Bracelet of Grass
© William Vaughn Moody
The opal heart of afternoon
Was clouding on to throbs of storm,
To The Rev. William Cawthorne Unwin
© William Cowper
Unwin, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay
As ever friendship penned,
Thy name omitted in a page
That would reclaim a vicious age.
The Clote (Water-Lily)
© William Barnes
O zummer clote! when the brook’s a-glidèn
So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy bed,
The Garden Buddha by Peter Pereira: American Life in Poetry #132 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004
© Ted Kooser
Children at play give personalities to lifeless objects, and we don't need to give up that pleasure as we grow older. Poets are good at discerning life within what otherwise might seem lifeless. Here the poet Peter Pereira, a family physician in the Seattle area, contemplates a smiling statue, and in that moment of contemplation the smile is given by the statue to the man.
The Garden Buddha
Gift of a friend, the stone Buddha sits zazen,
prayer beads clutched in his chubby fingers.
Through snow, icy rain, the riot of spring flowers,
he gazes forward to the city in the distanceâalways
The Drunken Boat
© Arthur Rimbaud
As I was going down impassive Rivers,
I no longer felt myself guided by haulers:
To Women
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Your hearts are lifted up, your hearts
That have foreknown the utter price.
Your hearts burn upward like a flame
Of splendour and of sacrifice.
The Lost Kiss
© James Whitcomb Riley
I put by the half-written poem,
While the pen, idly trailed in my hand,
