Poems begining by T
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The Landgraff
© Frances Anne Kemble
Through Thuringia's forest green
The Landgraff rode at close of e'en;
The Chopin Player
© Arthur Symons
The sounds torture me: I count them with my eyes,
I feel them like a thirst between my lips;
Is it my body or my soul that cries
With little coloured mouths of sound, and drips
In these bright drops that turn to butterflies
Dying delicately at my finger-tips?
The Heretic In The Temple
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Lone did I go within the ancient place,
With hushèd voice, and slow and reverent tread;
The Coming of the Plague
© Weldon Kees
September was when it began.
Locusts dying in the fields; our dogs
The Woodman And The Money Hunter
© George Moses Horton
Throughout our rambles much we find;
The bee trees burst with honey;
Wild birds we tame of every kind,
At once they seem to be resign'd;
I know but one that lags behind,
There's nothing lags but money.
Time to Come
© Walt Whitman
O, Death! a black and pierceless pall
Hangs round thee, and the future state;
No eye may see, no mind may grasp
That mystery of fate.
The Book of the Dead Man (#3)
© Marvin Bell
When the dead man throws up, he thinks he sees his inner life.
Seeing his vomit, he thinks he sees his inner life.
Now he can pick himself apart, weigh the ingredients, research
The Whiners
© Edgar Albert Guest
I don't mind the man with a red blooded kick
At a real or a fancied wrong;
The Girl with Bees in Her Hair
© Hugo Williams
came in an envelope with no return address;
she was small, wore wrinkled dress of figured
The Boy Enlists
© Edgar Albert Guest
His mother's eyes are saddened, and her cheeks
are stained with tears,
The Shipwreck Of Idomeneus
© George Meredith
Amid the din of elemental strife,
No voice may pierce but Deity supreme:
And Deity supreme alone can hear,
Above the hurricane's discordant shrieks,
The cry of agonized humanity.
The Tennis Court Oath
© John Ashbery
The mulatress approached in the hall—the
lettering easily visible along the edge of the Times
in a moment the bell would ring but there was time
for the carnation laughed here are a couple of “other”
The Pioneer
© James Russell Lowell
What man would live coffined with brick and stone,
Imprisoned from the healing touch of air,
And cramped with selfish landmarks everywhere,
When all before him stretches, furrowless and lone,
The unmapped prairie none can fence or own?
The New Decalogue
© Ambrose Bierce
Have but one God: thy knees were sore
If bent in prayer to three or four.
To the Noblest and Best of Ladies, the Countess of Denbigh
© Richard Crashaw
Persuading her to resolution in religion, and to
Render herself without further delay into the
Communion of the Catholic Church
The World And Bud
© Edgar Albert Guest
If we were all alike, what a dreadful world 'twould be!
No one would know which one was you or which of us was me.
We'd never have a "Skinny" or a "Freckles" or a "Fat,"
An' there wouldn't be a sissy boy to wear a velvet hat;
An' we'd all of us be pitchers when we played a baseball match,
For we'd never have a feller who'd have nerve enough to catch.
