Poems begining by T
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The Diver
© George MacDonald
"Which of you, knight or squire, will dare
Plunge into yonder gulf?
A golden beaker I fling in it-there!
The black mouth swallows it like a wolf!
Who brings me the cup again, whoever,
It is his own-he may keep it for ever!"
The Dog Lies In His Kennel
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
The dog lies in his kennel,
And Puss purrs on the rug,
The Little Girl's Song
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Do not mind my crying, Papa, I am not crying for pain.
Do not mind my shaking, Papa, I am not shaking with fear;
Tho' the wild wild wind is bideous to hear,
And I see the snow and the rain.
When will you come back again,
Papa, Papa?
The First Canzone Of The Convito
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.
I.
Ye who intelligent the Third Heaven move,
Hear the discourse which is within my heart,
The Lake Josephus Days
© Richard Brautigan
We left Little Redfish for Lake Josephus, traveling along the
good names-from Stanley to Capehorn to Seafoam to the
The Bright Medusa
© Sir Henry Newbolt
She's the daughter of the breeze,
She's the darling of the seas,
And we call her, if you please, the bright _Medu--sa_;
From beneath her bosom bare
To the snakes among her hair
She's a flash o' golden light, the bright _Medu--sa_.
The Old Age Of Queen Maeve
© William Butler Yeats
A certain poet in outlandish clothes
Gathered a crowd in some Byzantine lane,
The Future.
© Caroline Norton
I WAS a laughing child, and gaily dwelt
Where murmuring brooks, and dark blue rivers roll'd,
The Rose And Thorn
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
SHE'S loveliest of the festal throng
In delicate form and Grecian face;
A beautiful, incarnate song;
A marvel of harmonious grace;
The Triumph Of Melancholy
© James Beattie
Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye?
Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught,
To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye?
To Some Ladies
© John Keats
What though while the wonders of nature exploring,
I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend;
Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,
Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiasts friend:
The Vassal's Lament For The Fallen Tree
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Yes! I have seen the ancient oak
On the dark deep water cast,
And it was not fell'd by the woodman's stroke,
Or the rush of the sweeping blast;
For the axe might never touch that tree,
And the air was still as a summer-sea.
The Conscientious Deacon
© Vachel Lindsay
Black cats, grey cats, green cats miau
Chasing the deacon who stole the cow.
The Vulture (Parody of Poe's "Raven")
© Anonymous
Once upon a midnight chilling, as I held my feet unwilling
O'er a tub of scalding water, at a heat of ninety-four;
Nervously a toe in dipping, dripping, slipping, then out-skipping,
Suddenly there came a ripping whipping, at my chamber's door.
"'Tis the second-floor," I muttered, "flipping at my chamber's door--
Wants a light--and nothing more!"
