Poems begining by T
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The Traveller
© George Moses Horton
When from my native clime,
Mid lonely vallies pensive far I roam,
Mid rocks and hills where waters roll sublime,
'Tis sweet to think of home.
The Things That Make A Soldier Great
© Edgar Albert Guest
The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die,
To face the flaming cannon's mouth, nor ever question why,
Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red,
The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed,
The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall:
'Tis these that make a soldier great. He's fighting for them all.
The Discovery
© James Russell Lowell
I watched a moorland torrent run
Down through the rift itself had made,
Golden as honey in the sun,
Of darkest amber in the shade.
The Tear
© George Gordon Byron
'O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.'~GRAY
The New Exodus
© John Greenleaf Whittier
BY fire and cloud, across the desert sand,
And through the parted waves,
From their long bondage, with an outstretched hand,
God led the Hebrew slaves!
The Setting Sun
© George Moses Horton
'Tis sweet to trace the setting sun
Wheel blushing down the west;
When his diurnal race is run,
The traveller stops the gloom to shun,
And lodge his bones to rest.
The New Remorse
© Oscar Wilde
But who is this who cometh by the shore?
(Nay, love, look up and wonder!) Who is this
Who cometh in dyed garments from the South?
It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall kiss
The yet unravished roses of thy mouth,
And I shall weep and worship, as before.
To May
© Ellis Parker Butler
I have no heart to write verses to May;
I have no heartyet Im cheerful today;
I have no heartshe has won mine away
SoI have no heart to write verses to May.
The Stoic: For Laura Von Courten
© Edgar Bowers
All winter long you listened for the boom
Of distant cannon wheeled into their place.
Sometimes outside beneath a bombers moon
You stood alone to watch the searchlights trace
The Shepherd O The Farm
© William Barnes
Oh! I be shepherd o' the farm,
Wi' tinklèn bells an' sheep-dog's bark,
An' wi' my crook a-thirt my eärm,
Here I do rove below the lark.
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 05
© William Langland
The Kyng and hise knyghtes to the kirke wente
To here matyns of the day and the masse after.
To Dr. Mead, On His Cape Wine.
© Mary Barber
Your Wine, by Southern Suns refin'd,
Is a just Emblem of your Mind:
Like You, the gen'rous Juice displays
Its Influence a thousand Ways;
The Song Of The Bower
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
SAY, is it day, is it dusk in thy bower,
Thou whom I long for, who longest for me?
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE IS DEAD
My love is dead, dead and in spite of me,--
Dead while I lived,--while yet my blood was rife
With hope and pleasure and the pride of life.
The Lost Garden
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
There was a fair green garden sloping
From the south-east side of the mountain-ledge;
And the earliest tint of the dawn came groping
Down through its paths, from the day's dim edge.
The Bonny Hind
© Andrew Lang
O May she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon gardens green,
And there she spied a gallant squire
As squire had ever been.
Tema Con Variazioni
© Lewis Carroll
I NEVER loved a dear Gazelle -
Nor anything that cost me much:
High prices profit those who sell;
But why should I be fond of such?
To glad me with his soft black eye
My son comes trotting home from school;
He's had a fight but can't tell why
He always was a little fool!"
The Shepheardes Calender: November
© Edmund Spenser
November: Ægloga vndecima. Thenot & Colin.
Thenot.
Colin my deare, when shall it please thee sing,
As thou were
To England
© Alfred Austin
Men deemed thee fallen, did they? fallen like Rome,
Coiled into self to foil a Vandal throng:
To the Moonflower
© Craven Langstroth Betts
PALE, climbing disk, who dost lone vigil keep
When all the flower-heads droop in drowsy swoon;
