Poems begining by T
/ page 561 of 916 /To Her Whose Name
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To her whose name,
With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showers
Splashing the grass and flowers,
Hath set my April heart aflame;
The Last Parting
© Katharine Tynan
He is not dead. They do not know,
Who pity her, her secret ease,
How he is near her, how they go,
Her hand in his.
The Dustman
© Bliss William Carman
'DUSTMAN, dustman!'
Through the deserted square he cries,
And babies put their rosy fists
Into their eyes.
The Noon Quatrains
© Charles Cotton
THE Day grows hot, and darts his rays
From such a sure and killing place,
The Maid of Gerringong
© Henry Kendall
Rolling through the gloomy gorges, comes the roaring southern blast,
With a sound of torrents flying, like a routed army, past,
To Constantia
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
The rose that drinks the fountain dew
In the pleasant air of noon,
Grows pale and blue with altered hue
The Tombstone Told When She Died
© Dylan Thomas
The tombstone told when she died.
Her two surnames stopped me still.
To E. Fitzgerald: Tiresias
© Alfred Tennyson
. OLD FITZ, who from your suburb grange,
Where once I tarried for a while,
The Road To Ruin
© Siegfried Sassoon
My hopes, my messengers I sent
Across the ten years continent
Of Time. In dream I saw them go--
There is a Way
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
There is a way between voice and presence
where information flows.
In disciplined silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.
The Fairy Changeling
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Their muttered prayers, "He has no luck!
For sure the woman is fairy-struck,
To leave her child a fairy guest,
And love the weak, wee wean the best!"
To Lydia Maria Child
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The sweet spring day is glad with music,
But through it sounds a sadder strain;
The worthiest of our narrowing circle
Sings Loring's dirges o'er again.
The Egoists
© Edith Nesbit
TWO strangers, from opposing poles,
Meet in the torrid zone of Love:
And their desire seems set above
The limitation of their souls.
The Phantom Kiss
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
One night in my room, still and beamless,
With will and with thought in eclipse,
I rested in sleep that was dreamless;
When softly there fell on my lips
The Arid Lands
© Herbert Bashford
THESE lands are clothed in burning weather,
These parched lands pant for Gods cool rain;
I look away where strike together
The burnished sky and barren plain.
The Sophomore's Invitation
© William Herbert Carruth
Come out with me, O maiden mine,
Come out and roam the campus;
I'll wield the fairy bug-net thine,
And flounder through the bindweed vine,
A-puffing like a grampus.
The Stirrup Cup
© John Hay
My short and happy day is done,
The long and dreary night comes on;
And at my door the Pale Horse stands,
To carry me to unknown lands.
There is a calm for those who weep - 2
© James Montgomery
There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found:
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.
The God And The Bayadere - An Indian Legend
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Men as man he'd fain perceive.
And when he the town as a trav'ller hath seen,
Observing the mighty, regarding the mean,
He quits it, to go on his journey, at eve.