Poems begining by T
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The Brown Dwarf of Rugen
© John Greenleaf Whittier
And when beneath his door-yard trees the father met his child,
The bells rung out their merriest peal, the folks with joy ran wild.
The Pleasures of Imagination: Book The Fourth
© Mark Akenside
One effort more, one cheerful sally more,
Our destin'd course will finish. and in peace
The Child's Funeral
© William Cullen Bryant
Fair is thy site, Sorrento, green thy shore,
Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skies;
The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore,
As clear and bluer still before thee lies.
The Man On The Dump
© Wallace Stevens
Day creeps down. The moon is creeping up.
The sun is a corbeil of flowers the moon Blanche
The Cats Will Know
© Cesare Pavese
You too will make gestures.
You’ll answer with words—
face of springtime,
you too will make gestures.
The Great Society
© Robert Bly
Dentists continue to water their lawns even in the rain:
Hands developed with terrible labor by apes
Hang from the sleeves of evangelists;
There are murdered kings in the light-bulbs outside movie theaters:
The coffins of the poor are hibernating in piles of new tires.
The Choosing Of Valentines
© Thomas Nashe
It was the merie moneth of Februarie,
When yong men, in their iollie roguerie,
Rose earelie in the morne fore breake of daie,
To seeke them valentines soe trimme and gaie;
The Pleasures of Hope: Part 1
© Thomas Campbell
At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering bills below,
The Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches
© Heinrich Hoffmann
It almost makes me cry to tell
What foolish Harriet befell.
This Libation, Cupid, Take
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
This libation, Cupid, take,
With the lilies at thy feet;
The SpringTime, O The Spring--Time
© Alfred Austin
The Spring-time, O the Spring-time!
Who does not know it well?
The Chairs That No One Sits In
© Billy Collins
You see them on porches and on lawns
down by the lakeside,
usually arranged in pairs implying a couple
The Market-Place
© Walter de la Mare
The clamour quietens when the dark draws near;
Strange looms the earth in twilight of the West,
Lonely with one sweet star serene and clear,
Dwelling, when all this place is hushed to rest,
On vacant stall, gold, refuse, worst and best,
Abandoned utterly in haste and fear.
The Aungeles Song.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Honured be thu, blisful heuene queene, And worschepid mot þou be in eueri place,That modier art, and veari maidë clene!Of god, oure lord, thu geten hast þat grace.Thu, cause of Ioyës art, and alle soláce, Be merite of thi gret humilite,And by the floure of thi virginite.
Honured be thu blissed ladi bright! Be thi persone, embasshëd is natúre;Of heuene blisse, augmented is the light,Be presence of so fare a crëature;Thi worthinessë pasith all mesúre; ffor vnto thin astate imperiall,No praisyng is, þat may be peregall.
The Gatekeeper’s Children
© Philip Levine
This is the house of the very rich.
You can tell because it’s taken all
The Vanguard [1]
© Henry Lawson
Let the Jingo in his blindness cant and cackle as he will;
But across the path from Asia run the Russian trenches still!
And the sahib in his rickshaw may loll back and smoke at ease,
While the haggard, ragged heroes man the battered batteries.
