Poems begining by T
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The Prayer of the Year
© Ethelwyn Wetherald
Leave me Hope when I am old, Strip my joys from me,Let November to the cold Bare each leafy tree;Chill my lover, dull my friend. Only, while I gropeTo the dark the silent end, Leave me Hope!
The Cicada
© Ethelwyn Wetherald
When the sun is hot and growing hotter,And the pond is dry as the ink on a blotter,When dust on the lilac leaves is showing
The Sparrow
© Albert Durrant Watson
A little meal of frozen cake, A little drink of snow,And when the sun is setting, A broad-eaved bungalow.
The Drunkard's Child
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
He stood beside his dying child, With a dim and bloodshot eye;They'd won him from the haunts of vice To see his first-born die
The Study of a Spider
© Warren John Byrne Leicester
From holy flower to holy flowerThou weavest thine unhallowed bower
Tender Mercies, on my Way
© Waring Anna Letitia
Tender mercies, on my way Falling softly like the dew,Sent me freshly every day, I will bless the Lord for you.
The Snake on D. H. Lawrence
© Warburton N. J.
Some creep came to my water troughAnd stood there, hopping from foot to foot,In his pyjamas.
The Hand and the Foot
© Jones Very
The hand and foot that stir not, they shall findSooner than all the rightful place to go;Now in their motion free as roving wind,Though first no snail more limited and slow;I mark them full of labor all the day,Each active motion made in perfect rest;They cannot from their path mistaken stray,Though 't is not theirs, yet in it they are blest;The bird has not their hidden track found out,Nor cunning fox, though full of art he be;It is the way unseen, the certain route,Where ever bound, yet thou art ever free;The path of Him, whose perfect law of loveBids spheres and atoms in just order move
The Eye and Ear
© Jones Very
Thou readest, but each lettered word can give Thee but the sound that thou first gave to it; Thou lookest on the page, things move and live In light thine eye and thine alone has lit; Ears are there yet unstopped, and eyes unclosed, That see and hear as in one common day, When they which present see have long reposed, And he who hears has mouldered too to clay; These ever see and hear; they are in Him, Who speaks, and all is light; how dark before! Each object throws aside its mantle dim, That hid the starry robe that once it wore; And shines full-born disclosing all that is, Itself by all things seen and owned as His
The Cup
© Jones Very
The bitterness of death is on me now,Before me stands its dark unclosing door;Yet to Thy will submissive still I bow,And follow Him who for me went before;The tomb cannot contain me though I die,For His strong love awakes its sleeping dead,And bids them through Himself ascend on highTo Him who is of all the living Head;I gladly enter through the gloomy walls,Where they have passed who loved their Master here;The voice they heard, to me it onward calls,And can when faint my sinking spirit cheer;And from the joy on earth it now has given,Lead on to joy eternal in the heaven
The Long and the Short of It
© Venright Steve
The good news is that Jesus has returned.The bad news is that he's brought his family.The result is that nothing will ever be the same again (not that it ever was).
The Wedding Posy
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
Thanks to thy newly-wedded hand, which gaveThese bridal honours to the tomb to-day,A daughter's wedding posy! Who shall sayIt is a truant at a father's grave?O'er the blue hills, fair Edith, thou art gone;Thou and thy votive flowers are sunder'd wide;But still ye are so tenderly alliedOn earth, that your twin sweetness shall be oneIn heaven
To A Greek Girl On The Seashore
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
There are no heathen gods to play the rogueWith wandering maidens, as in olden time;Whose wild Olympian hearts were all agogTo choose their victim, and inflict their crime:Thou hast been gathering flowers, a fragrant store,But no grim Dis has seiz'd thee for his bride;And though thou rovest on this houseless shoreNo horned Zeus betrays thee to the tide
To A Friend
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
My low deserts consist not with applauseSo kindly -- when I fain would deem it so,My sad heart, musing on its proper flaws,Thy gentle commendation must forego;As toys, which, glued together, hold awhile,But, haply brought too near some searching fire,Start from their frail compacture, and beguileThe child, that pieced them, of his fond desire:I was a very child for that brief tide,Whenas I join'd and solder'd thy good wordWith my poor merits -- 'twas a moment's pride --The flames of conscience sunder'd their accord:My heart dropt off in sorrow from thy praise,Self-knowledge baulk'd self-love so many ways
The Oak and the Hill
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
When the storm fell'd our oak, and thou, fair wold,Wast seen beyond it, we were slow to takeThe lesson taught, for our old neighbour's sake
The Mute Lovers On the Railway Journey
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
They bade farwell; but neither spoke of love
The Marble Landing
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
They sunk a graven stone into the groundWhere first our Garibaldi's ship was moor'd,Whereon an angry record of his woundBeneath those fair memorial lines, was scor'd;At night the accusing tablet was replacedBy one, discharged of that injurious word,That pierced the general bosom like a sword,Belied their love, their common hope disgrac'd
