Poems begining by T
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The Rapture Of The Year
© James Whitcomb Riley
The ho! and hey! and whop-hooray!
Though winter clouds be looming,
Remember a November day
Is merrier than mildest May
With all her blossoms blooming.
The Good, Great Man
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
"How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits
Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains!
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits
If any man obtain that which he merits
Or any merit that which he obtains."
The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster
© Jack Gilbert
When you take your pill
it’s like a mine disaster.
I think of all the people
lost inside of you.
The Dreams Of My Heart
© Sara Teasdale
The dreams of my heart and my mind pass,
Nothing stays with me long,
But I have had from a child
The deep solace of song;
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 09
© William Langland
"Sire Dowel dwelleth,' quod Wit, "noght a day hennes
In a castel that Kynde made of foure kynnes thynges.
The Master-Cook
© Rudyard Kipling
With us there rade a Maister-Cook that came
From the Rochelle which is neere Angouleme.
The Definition of Gardening
© James Tate
Jim just loves to garden, yes he does.
He likes nothing better than to put on
The Slave Auction
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
The sale began—young girls were there,
Defenseless in their wretchedness,
Whose stifled sobs of deep despair
Revealed their anguish and distress.
Taking Off My Clothes
© Carolyn Forche
I take off my shirt, I show you.
I shaved the hair out under my arms.
I roll up my pants, I scraped off the hair
on my legs with a knife, getting white.
To Mrs K____, On Her Sending Me an English Christmas Plum-Cake at Paris
© Helen Maria Williams
What crowding thoughts around me wake,
What marvels in a Christmas-cake!
The Embankment
© Thomas Ernest Hulme
Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now see I
That warmth's the very stuff of poesy.
The Young Rebel
© Alice Guerin Crist
The sun is setting behind the range,
His golden rays pour down
On a little figure, childish and strange,
Bending over a volume worn,
Whose green-clad cover, dusty and torn,
Bears a harp without a crown.
The Ground Squirrel
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
From a nook just as cosy,
And tranquil, and dozy,
As e'er wooed to Sybarite napping
(But none ever caught him a-napping).
"Don't you see his soft burrow so quaint, lad! and queer?"
To A Lady, Offended By A Sportive Observation That Women Have No Souls
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Nay, dearest Anna! why so grave?
I said, you had no soul, 'tis true!
For what you are, you cannot have:
'Tis I, that have one since I first had you!
_____________
The Poet at Seventeen
© Larry Levis
My youth? I hear it mostly in the long, volleying
Echoes of billiards in the pool halls where
I spent it all, extravagantly, believing
My delicate touch on a cue would last for years.
To My Mother
© Hristo Botev
Was it you, mother, with your tearful song,
was it you who cursed me three years' long
to be a luckless, drifting waif
and meet all those my soul most hates?
Titanic Requiem
© Harriet Monroe
Sleep softly in your ocean bed,
You who could grandly die !
Our fathers, who at Shiloh bled,
Accept your company.
The Thief On The Cross
© Harriet Monroe
And one the unrepentant bore, who his harsh fate defied.
To him, the child of darkness, all mercy was denied;
Nailed by his brothers on the cross, he cursed his God and died.
Ah, Christ, who met in Paradise him who had eyes to see,
Didst thou not greet the other in hell's black agony ?
And if he knew thy face, Lord, what did he say to thee?
