Poems begining by T
/ page 546 of 916 /
True Love.
© Robert Crawford
It is the very tune of hearts, and rhythms
To all occasions truly musical.
He sticks as fast to her each whim as does
The scarabaeus to its curious ball,
The Arraying
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
The blue-eyed maidens of the sea
With trembling haste approach the lee,
To An Astrologer
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Nay seer, I do not doubt thy mystic lore,
Nor question that the tenor of my life,
The Sundial
© Thomas Love Peacock
The ivy o'er the mouldering wall
Spreads like a tree, the growth of years:
The Discovery Of A Soul
© Edgar Albert Guest
_The proof of a man is the danger test_,
_That shows him up at his worst or best_.
The Disappointment
© Ann Taylor
IN tears to her mother poor Harriet came,
Let us listen to hear what she says:
"O see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain,
We cannot go out in the chaise.
The Irish Avatar
© George Gordon Byron
Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave,
And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide,
Lo! George the triumphant speeds over the wave,
To the long-cherish'd isle which he loved like his--bride!
The Old Year And The New
© James Whitcomb Riley
As one in sorrow looks upon
The dead face of a loyal friend,
By the dim light of New Year's dawn
I saw the Old Year end.
The Girl I Left Behind Me
© Henry Kendall
With sweet Regret (the dearest thing that Yesterday has left us)
We often turn our homeless eyes to scenes whence Fate has reft us.
Here sitting by a fading flame, wild waifs of song remind me
Of Annie with her gentle ways, the Girl I left behind me.
Trust in God
© Charles Harpur
Deep trust in Godfor that I still have sought
Through all the grim doubts that bemock the soul,
The Pack
© Gamaliel Bradford
A bit of metaphysics or a psychologic catch
Will sit upon my breast all day and scratch and scratch and
scratch. Now isn't it a pity that the ragged thorns of culture Should be tearing at my vitals, as Prometheus's the vulture?
There Is A Garden In Her Face
© Thomas Campion
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.
The Pedant
© Matthew Prior
Lysander talks extremely well;
On any subject let him dwell
His tropes and figures will content ye
He should possess to all degrees
The art of talk; he practises
Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.
The Maid Of Jerusalem
© John Clare
Maid of Jerusalem, by the Dead Sea,
I wandered all sorrowing thinking of thee,--
Thy city in ruins, thy kindred deplored,
All fallen and lost by the Ottoman's sword.
To Man Who Goes Seeking Immortality Bidding Him Look Nearer Home.
© Adelaide Crapsey
Too far afield thy search. Nay, turn. Nay, turn.
At thine own elbow potent Memory stands,
The Death of Sisera
© Charles Harpur
When Deborah the prophetess ruled in Gods land,
And Sisera died under Jaels fierce hand,
The Contented Man's Morice
© George Wither
False world, thy malice I espie
With what thou hast designed;
And therein with thee to comply,
Who likewise are combined:
But, do thy worst, I thee defie,
Thy mischiefs are confined.
Time And The Garden
© Yvor Winters
The spring has darkened with activity.
The future gathers in vine, bush, and tree:
The Old Squire
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I like the hunting of the hare
Better than that of the fox;
I like the joyous morning air,
And the crowing of the cocks.
