Poems begining by T
/ page 600 of 916 /
To Chloe Jealous
© Matthew Prior
Dear Chloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face;
Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd:
Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says)
Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.
The Six Sorrows
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
There are six sorrows in my heart—
Red Allen, Clare, and Joan,
Sweet Bet, and Jock, and little Roy;
Six sorrows all my own.
The Sleepers
© Sylvia Plath
No map traces the street
Where those two sleepers are.
We have lost track of it.
They lie as if under water
In a blue, unchanging light,
The French window ajar
The Flower-Garden
© Richard Monckton Milnes
O pensive Sister! thy tear--darkened gaze
I understand, whene'er thou look'st upon
The Garden's gilded green and colour'd blaze,
The gay society of flowers and sun.
The Find
© Francis Ledwidge
I took a reed and blew a tune,
And sweet it was and very clear
To be about a little thing
That only few hold dear.
To My Child
© Vahan Tekeyan
You, eternal love for child, how did you fall into me,
Like a kind and gentle seed fallen on the desert floor,
That clinged to the other buds, waiting for a long, long while,
Guiding its juices in vain to the currents of the earth?
The First Bluebirds
© Katharine Lee Bates
THE poor earth was so winter-marred,
Harried by storm so long,
The Angel Of The Doves.
© James Brunton Stephens
THE angels stood in the court of the King,
And into the midst, through the open door,
The Ramble-eer
© Anonymous
The earth rolls on through empty space, its journey's never done;
It's entered for a starry race throughout the kingdom come.
And, as I am a bit of earth, I follow it because -
And to prove I am a rolling stone and never gather moss.
Twilight Monologue
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
CAN it be that the glory of manhood has passed,
That its purpose, its passion, its might,
Have all paled with the fervor that fed them at last,
As the twilight comes down with the night?
The Stirrup Cup
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Come, drink a stirrup cup with me,
Before we close our rouse.
Thisbe's Song
© Abraham Cowley
Come, love, why stay'st thou? The night
Will vanish ere wee taste delight.
The moone obscures her selfe from sight,
Thou absent, whose eyes give her light.
The Owl by Wendy Videlock : American Life in Poetry #264 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Wendy Videlock lives in western Colorado, where a person can stop to study what an owl has left behind without being run over by a taxi.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Interlude VI.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"Six stories told! We must have seven,
A cluster like the Pleiades,
And lo! it happens, as with these,
That one is missing from our heaven.
Where is the Landlord? Bring him here;
Let the Lost Pleiad reappear."
The Test
© Walter Savage Landor
I held her hand, the pledge of bliss,
Her hand that trembled and withdrew;
She bent her head before my kiss...
My heart was sure that hers was true.
The Whirlwind Road
© Edwin Markham
THE MUSES wrapped in mysteries of light
Came in a rush of music on the night;
