Poems begining by T
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The Digging Skeleton
© Charles Baudelaire
I
In the anatomical plates
displayed on the dusty quays
where many a dry book sleeps
The Broken Fountain
© Amy Lowell
Oblong, its jutted ends rounding into circles,
The old sunken basin lies with its flat, marble lip
The Dwellers Within
© George MacDonald
Down a warm alley, early in the year,
Among the woods, with all the sunshine in
The Quarrel
© Linda Pastan
If there were a monument
to silence, it would not be
the tree whose leaves
murmur continuously
among themselves;
The Nails
© William Stanley Merwin
I gave you sorrow to hang on your wall
Like a calendar in one color.
The Oldest Living Thing in L.A.
© Larry Levis
At Wilshire & Santa Monica I saw an opossum
Trying to cross the street. It was late, the street
The Call of the Congo
© Jessie Pope
I go as a rule
At the coming of Yule,
To a place where the sunshine's obtrusive ;
At Hydros I'm found,
Where dyspeptics abound,
And massage and physic's inclusive ;
The Windy City [sections 1 and 6]
© Carl Sandburg
Early the red men gave a name to the river,
the place of the skunk,
the river of the wild onion smell,
Shee-caw-go.
The Wind at the Door
© William Barnes
As day did darken on the dewless grass,
There, still, wi nwone a-come by me
To stay a-while at hwome by me
Within the house, all dumb by me,
I zot me sad as the eventide did pass.
To Lysander
© Aphra Behn
(On some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart than ‘twas worth.)
I
Take back that Heart, you with such Caution give,
Take the fond valu’d Trifle back;
I hate Love-Merchants that a Trade wou’d drive
And meanly cunning Bargains make.
The Secret
© Pierre Reverdy
We have a secret, just we three,
The robin, and I, and the sweet cherry-tree;
The bird told the tree, and the tree told me,
And nobody knows it but just us three.
The Stockman's Last Bed
© Anonymous
Be ye stockmen or no, to my story give ear.
Alas! for poor Jack, no more shall we hear
The crack of his stockwhip, his steed's lively trot,
His clear "Go ahead, boys," his jingling quart pot.
To fight aloud is very brave - (138)
© Emily Dickinson
To fight aloud, is very brave -
But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the bosom
The Calvary of Wo -
The Wrens Nest
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
I TOOK the wren's nest;--
Heaven forgive me!
Its merry architects so small
Had scarcely finished their wee hall,
The Hour of the Angel
© Rudyard Kipling
Sooner or late-in earnest or in jest-
(But the stakes are no jest) Ithuriel's Hour
The Recluse - Book First
© William Wordsworth
HOME AT GRASMERE
ONCE to the verge of yon steep barrier came
A roving school-boy; what the adventurer's age
Hath now escaped his memory--but the hour,
There's a certain Slant of light, (320)
© Emily Dickinson
There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes
The Life of Earth
© Robert Fuller Murray
The life of earth, how full of pain,
Which greets us on our day of birth,
Nor leaves us while we yet retain
The life of earth.
