Poems begining by T
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The Calling Motherland
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
On the lone height of some untrodden hill
The shadowy mother goes,
To a Young Poet
© Mahmoud Darwish
Don’t believe our outlines, forget them
and begin from your own words.
As if you are the first to write poetry
or the last poet.
The Night Of The Lion
© Alfred Noyes
"_And that a reply be received before midnight._"
_British Ultimatum_.
To the Right Honourable The Countess Dowager Of Devonshire, On A Piece Of Wiessen's
© Matthew Prior
Wiessen and nature held a long contest
If she created or he painted best;
The Course Of Love
© Sant Surdas
Seeing Radha stand alone, Krishna came from behind and blindfolded her with his hands
To my Comrade, Moses J. Jackson, Scoffer at this Scholarship
© Alfred Edward Housman
As we went walking far and wide
Through silent fields and countryside,
To Fool or Knave
© Benjamin Jonson
Thy praise or dispraise is to me alike:
One doth not stroke me, nor the other strike.
Tomb (Of Verlaine)
© Stéphane Mallarme
The black rock enraged that the north wind rolls it on
Will not stop itself, nor, under pious hands, still
Cease testing its resemblance to human ill
As if to bless some fatal cast of bronze.
The Grand Canyon
© Henry Van Dyke
How still it is! Dear God, I hardly dare
To breathe, for fear the fathomless abyss
Will draw me down into eternal sleep.
Those Dancing Days Are Gone
© William Butler Yeats
Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
The Lesson of Grief
© George Meredith
Not ere the bitter herb we taste,
Which ages thought of happy times,
To plant us in a weeping waste,
Rings with our fellows this one heart
Accordant chimes.
Trollius and trellises
© Charles Bukowski
I won’t blame him for getting
out
and hope he sends me photos of his
Rose Lane, his
Gardenia Avenue.
To a Greek Marble
© William Langland
Pótuia, pótuia
White grave goddess,
Pity my sadness,
O silence of Paros.
The Death Of The Pauper Child
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Hush, mourning mother, wan and pale!
No sobsno grieving now:
The Nightingale Of Flanders
© Grace Hazard Conkling
THE nightingales of Flanders,
They had not gone to war;
A soldier heard them singing
Where they had sung before.
The Boy’s Answer to the Blackmoor
© Henry King
Black maid, complain not that I fly,
When Fate commands antipathy:
Tears for Lesbias Sparrow
© Gaius Valerius Catullus
Sparrow, my sweet girls delight,
whom she plays with, holds to her breast,
