Poems begining by T
/ page 516 of 916 /
Time Without End
© Arthur Rimbaud
We have found it again.
What? Time without end.
'Tis the ocean gone
For a walk with the sun.
To the Rose upon the Rood of Time
© William Butler Yeats
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
The Sun-Dial
© Henry Austin Dobson
'Tis an old dial, dark with many a stain;
In summer crowned with drifting orchard bloom,
Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain,
And white in winter like a marble tomb.
The Idols
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I.2
The Forests of the Night awaken blind in heat
Of black stupor; and stirring in its deep retreat,
I hear the heart of Darkness slowly beat and beat.
The Eolian Harp
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
And what if all of animated nature
Be but organic Harps diversely framed,
That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,
At once the Soul of each, and God of all?
The Watchers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
BESIDE a stricken field I stood;
On the torn turf, on grass and wood,
To Katharine: At Fourteen Months by Joelle Biele: American Life in Poetry #174 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet
© Ted Kooser
I'd guess you've all seen a toddler hold something over the edge of a high-chair and then let it drop, just for the fun of it. Here's a lovely picture of a small child learning the laws of physics. The poet, Joelle Biele, lives in Maryland.
The One Certainty
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith,
All things are vanity. The eye and ear
The Wind of The World
© George MacDonald
Chained is the Spring. The Night-wind bold
Blows over the hard earth;
Time is not more confused and cold,
Nor keeps more wintry mirth.
The Blow Returned
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
I struck you once, I do remember well.
Hard on the track of passion sorrow sped,
The Season Of Loves
© Paul Eluard
By the road of ways
In the three-part shadow of troubled sleep
I come to you the double the multiple
as like you as the era of deltas.
To Help the Monkey Cross the River
© Thomas Lux
which he must
cross, by swimming, for fruits and nuts,
To Wordsworth
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Thine is a strain to read among the hills,
The old and full of voices;âby the source
Of some free stream, whose gladdening presence fills
The solitude with sound; for in its course
Even such is thy deep song, that seems a part
Of those high scenes, a fountain from their heart.
The Immediate Life
© Paul Eluard
Whats become of you why this white hair and pink
Why this forehead these eyes rent apart heart-rending
The great misunderstanding of the marriage of radium
Solitude chases me with its rancour.
The Nabob
© Kenneth Slessor
(To the memory of William Hickey, Esq.)
COMING out of India with ten thousand a year
Exchanged for flesh and temper, a dry Faust
Whose devil barters with digestion, has he paid dear
The Cloth of the Tempest
© Kenneth Patchen
These of living emanate a formidable light,
Which is equal to death, and when used
The Truly Great
© Stephen Spender
I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul’s history
The Seventh Inning
© Donald Hall
1. Baseball, I warrant, is not the whole
occupation of the aging boy.
