Poems begining by T
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The Munich Mannequins
© Sylvia Plath
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Thirty-Eight. To Mrs ____y
© Charlotte Turner Smith
In early youths unclouded scene,
The brilliant morning of eighteen,
With health and sprightly joy elate,
We gazed on youths enchanting spring,
Nor thought how quickly time would bring
The mournful period thirty-eight!
To the Harp
© Michael Drayton
That instrument ne'er heard
Struck by the skilful bard
It strongly to awake,
But it the Infernals seared
And made Olympus quake.
The Paleontologist’s Blind Date by Philip Memmer : American Life in Poetry #240 Ted Kooser, U.
© Ted Kooser
We haven’t shown you many poems in which the poet enters another person and speaks through him or her, but it is, of course, an effective and respected way of writing. Here Philip Memmer of Deansboro, N.Y., enters the persona of a young woman having an unpleasant experience with a blind date.
The Paleontologist’s Blind Date
The Panther
© Edwin Markham
The moon shears up on Tahoe now:
A panther leaps to a tamarack bough.
She crouches, hugging the crooked limb:
She hears the nearing steps of him
Who sent the little puff of smoke
That stretched her mate beneath the oak.
Trade
© John Le Gay Brereton
It rushed upon them and it passed
Leaving a ghost of pain and fear
To haunt the ruin it had made.
But surely they have learnt at last?
What far faint murmur can we hear
Of frantic howling? Listen! . . . TRADE.
The Fat Old Couple Whirling Around
© Robert Bly
The drum says that the night we die will be a long night.
It says the children have time to play. Tell the grownups
They can pull the curtains around the bed tonight.
The Country Clown
© John Trumbull
Bred in distant woods, the clown
Brings all his country airs to town;
To You, Remembering the Past
© Christopher Morley
WHEN we were parted, sweet, and darkness came,
I used to strike a match, and hold the flame
Before your picture and rould breathless mark
The answering glimmer of the tiny spark
That brought to life the magic of your eyes,
Their wistful tenderness, their glad surprise.
Tired
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I am tired to-night, and something,
The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
Has brought back the past and its pain.
The Phantom-Song
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
IN museful hours, when thoughts of grace divine
Roll wave-like up the stormless strand of dreams;--
When that which is grows vague as that which seems,--
I mark, far-off, a radiant shade incline
To Luna
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Quivering mists in silv'ry dress
Float around thy features bright;
When thy gentle foot is heard,
The Slow Pacific Swell
© Yvor Winters
Far out of sight forever stands the sea,
Bounding the land with pale tranquillity.
The Half Of Life Gone
© William Morris
No, no, it is she no longer; never again can she come
And behold the hay-wains creeping o'er the meadows of her home;
No more can she kiss her son or put the rake in his hand
That she handled a while agone in the midst of the haymaking band.
Her laughter is gone and her life; there is no such thing on the earth,
No share for me then in the stir, no share in the hurry and mirth.
The Storm
© Frederick George Scott
O GRIP the earth, ye forest trees,
Grip well the earth to-night,
The Storm-God rides across the seas
To greet the morning light.
