Poems begining by T
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The Maid Of The Mill's Repentance.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Expel thee!
What's this thou singest so falsely, forsooth,
Of love and a maiden's silent truth?
Too Late
© Edith Nesbit
WHEN Love, sweet Love, was tangled in my snare
I clipped his wings, and dressed his cage with flowers,
The Prosperous Voyage.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THE mist is fast clearing.
And radiant is heaven,
Whilst AEolus loosens
Our anguish-fraught bond.
The Walking Bell
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
A CHILD refused to go betimesTo church like other people;
He roam'd abroad, when rang the chimesOn Sundays from the steeple.His mother said: "Loud rings the bell,Its voice ne'er think of scorning;
Unless thou wilt behave thee well,'Twill fetch thee without warning."The child then thought: "High over headThe bell is safe suspended--"
So to the fields he straightway spedAs if 'twas school-time ended.The bell now ceas'd as bell to ring,Roused by the mother's twaddle;
The Dust Of Timas
© Sappho
This dust was Timas; and they say
That almost on her wedding day
She found her bridal home to be
The dark house of Persephone.
The Spectral Attitudes
© André Breton
I attach no importance to life
I pin not the least of life's butterflies to importance
The Mountain Village.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"THE mountain village was destroy'd;
But see how soon is fill'd the void!
Shingles and boards, as by magic arise,
The babe in his cradle and swaddling-clothes lies;
How blest to trust to God's protection!"
The Soldier's Consolation.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
No! in truth there's here no lack:
White the bread, the maidens black!
To another town, next night:
Black the bread, the maidens white!
The Stork's Vocation.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THE stork who worms and frogs devoursThat in our ponds reside,
Why should he dwell on high church-towers,With which he's not allied?Incessantly he chatters there,And gives our ears no rest;
But neither old nor young can dareTo drive him from his nest.I humbly ask it,--how can heGive of his title proof,
Save by his happy tendencyTo soil the church's roof?
The Meeting Of The Dryads
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
IT was not many centuries since,
When, gathered on the moonlit green,
Beneath the Tree of Liberty,
A ring of weeping sprites was seen.
The Reckoning.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
LEADER.LET no cares now hover o'er usLet the wine unsparing run!
Wilt thou swell our merry chorus?Hast thou all thy duty done?SOLO.Two young folks--the thing is curious--Loved each other; yesterday
Both quite mild, to-day quite furious,Next day, quite the deuce to pay!
If her neck she there was stooping,He must here needs pull his hair.
The Coy One.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
ONE Spring-morning bright and fair,Roam'd a shepherdess and sang;
Young and beauteous, free from care,Through the fields her clear notes rang:
So, Ia, Ia! le ralla, &c.Of his lambs some two or threeThyrsis offer'd for a kiss;
First she eyed him roguishly,Then for answer sang but this:
The German Parnassus.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
With her modest pinions, see,
Philomel encircles me!
In these bushes, in yon grove,
The Bride of a Year
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
She stands in front of her mirror
With bright and joyous air,
The Maid Of The Mill's Treachery.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[This Ballad is introduced in the Wanderjahre,
in a tale called The Foolish Pilgrim.]WHENCE comes our friend so hastily,When scarce the Eastern sky is grey?
Hath he just ceased, though cold it be,In yonder holy spot to pray?
The brook appears to hem his path,Would he barefooted o'er it go?
The Death Of The Fly
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WITH eagerness he drinks the treach'rous potion,Nor stops to rest, by the first taste misled;
Sweet is the draught, but soon all power of motionHe finds has from his tender members fled;
No longer has he strength to plume his wing,
No longer strength to raise his head, poor thing!
The Treasure-digger
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
ALL my weary days I pass'dSick at heart and poor in purse.Poverty's the greatest curse,Riches are the highest good!
And to end my woes at last,Treasure-seeking forth I sped."Thou shalt have my soul instead!"Thus I wrote, and with my blood.Ring round ring I forthwith drew,Wondrous flames collected there,Herbs and bones in order fair,Till the charm had work'd aright.
Then, to learned precepts true,Dug to find some treasure old,In the place my art foretoldBlack and stormy was the night.Coming o'er the distant plain,With the glimmer of a star,Soon I saw a light afar,As the hour of midnight knell'd.
Preparation was in vain.Sudden all was lighted upWith the lustre of a cupThat a beauteous boy upheld.Sweetly seem'd his eves to laughNeath his flow'ry chaplet's load;With the drink that brightly glow'd,He the circle enter'd in.
The Visit.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
While at work had slumber stolen o'er her;
For her knitting and her needle found I
Resting in her folded bands so tender;
And I placed myself beside her softly,
And held counsel, whether I should wake her.
