Poems begining by T
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The One Face
© Arthur Symons
Fair faces come again,
As at sunsetting
The Stars without number;
Or as dreams dreamed in vain
To a heart forgetting
Come back with slumber.
The Animals are Leaving by Charles Harper Webb: American Life in Poetry #203 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet L
© Ted Kooser
To read in the news that a platoon of soldiers has been killed is a terrible thing, but to learn the name of just one of them makes the news even more vivid and sad. To hold the name of someone or something on our lips is a powerful thing. It is the badge of individuality and separateness. Charles Harper Webb, a California poet, takes advantage of the power of naming in this poem about the steady extinction of animal species.
The Animals are Leaving
One by one, like guests at a late party
They shake our hands and step into the dark:
Arabian ostrich; Long-eared kit fox; Mysterious starling.
To A Picture Of Eleonora Duse In "The Dead City" II
© Sara Teasdale
Carved in the silence by the hand of Pain,
And made more perfect by the gift of Peace,
Than if Delight had bid your sorrow cease,
And brought the dawn to where the dark has lain,
The December Rose
© Edith Nesbit
Here's a rose that blows for Chloe,
Fair as ever a rose in June was,
Now the garden's silent, snowy,
Where the burning summer noon was.
The World State
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Oh, how I love Humanity,
With love so pure and pringlish,
And how I hate the horrid French,
Who never will be English!
Twenty-Two Rhymes To Left-Prime-Minister Wei
© Du Fu
Boys in fancy clothes never starve,
but Confucian scholars often find their lives in ruin.
The Bluebell
© Emily Jane Brontë
The Bluebell is the sweetest flower
That waves in summer air:
Its blossoms have the mightiest power
To soothe my spirit's care.
Treat Well Your Wife
© William Barnes
No, no, good Meäster Collins cried,
Why you've a good wife at your zide;
The Grave and The Rose
© Victor Marie Hugo
The Grave said to the Rose,
"What of the dews of dawn,
Love's flower, what end is theirs?"
"And what of spirits flown,
There Is A Fountain Filled With Blood
© William Cowper
There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emmanuels veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
Lose all their guilty stains, lose all their guilty stains;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
To Tu Fu from Shantung
© Li Po
You ask how I spend my time--
I nestle against a treetrunk
and listen to autumn winds
in the pines all night and day.
To Tan-Ch'iu
© Li Po
My friend is lodging high in the Eastern Range,
Dearly loving the beauty of valleys and hills.
At green Spring he lies in the empty woods,
And is still asleep when the sun shines on igh.
Through the YangZi Gorges
© Li Po
From the walls of Baidi high in the coloured dawn
To Jiangling by night-fall is three hundred miles,
Yet monkeys are still calling on both banks behind me
To my boat these ten thousand mountains away.
The Philosopher's Oration: A Faun's Holiday
© Robert Nichols
Meanwhile, though nations in distress
Cower at a comet's loveliness
Shaken across the midnight sky;
Though the wind roars, and Victory,
To Wang Lun
© Li Po
I was about to sail away in a junk,
When suddenly I heard
The sound of stamping and singing on the bank
It was you and your friends come to bid me farewell.
