Poems begining by T
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The Spring Oracle.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
OH prophetic bird so bright,
Blossom-songster, cuckoo bight!
In the fairest time of year,
Dearest bird, oh! deign to hear
The Destruction Of Magdeburg.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[For a fine account of the fearful sack of Magdeburg,
by Tilly, in the year 1613, see SCHILLER's History of the Thirty
Years' War.]
The Incomparable Soporific Doctor
© James Thomson
Sweet, sleeky Doctor! dear pacific soul!
Lay at the beef, and suck the vital bowl!
The Doubters And The Lovers
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
But we are on the proper road alone!
If gladly is to thaw the frozen soul,
The fire of love must aye be kept alive.
The Drops Of Nectar.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
To a happy end they tasted,
They, and other gentle insects!
For with mortals now divide they
Art?that noblest gift of all.
The Friendly Meeting.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Lovingly I'll sing of love;
Ever comes she from above.THE FRIENDLY MEETING.IN spreading mantle to my chin conceald,I trod the rocky path, so steep and grey,Then to the wintry plain I bent my way
Uneasily, to flight my bosom steel'd.But sudden was the newborn day reveal'd:A maiden came, in heavenly bright array,Like the fair creatures of the poet's lay
In realms of song. My yearning heart was heal'd.Yet turn'd I thence, till she had onward pass'd,While closer still the folds to draw I tried, As though with heat self-kindled to grow warm;But follow'd her. She stood. The die was cast!No more within my mantle could I hide; I threw it off,--she lay within mine arm. 1807-8.
To The Lamented Memory Of F. H. C.
© John Kenyon
Sweet friend, farewell! to whom propitious birth
Gave beautysensethe prosperous goods of earth;
The Convert.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
As at sunset I was strayingSilently the wood along,
Damon on his flute was playing,And the rocks gave back the song,
So la, Ia! &c.Softly tow'rds him then he drew me;Sweet each kiss he gave me then!
And I said, "Play once more to me!"And he kindly play'd again,
The Song of the Camp
© James Bayard Taylor
GIVE us a song! the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,
When the heated guns of the camps allied
Grew weary of bombarding.
The Wanderer's Storm-song.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinion
When he sleepeth on the rock,--
Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wing
In the forest's midnight hour.
To The Distant One.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
AND have I lost thee evermore?Hast thou, oh fair one, from me flown?
Still in mine ear sounds, as of yore,Thine ev'ry word, thine ev'ry tone.As when at morn the wand'rer's eyeAttempts to pierce the air in vain,
When, hidden in the azure sky,The lark high o'er him chaunts his strain:So do I cast my troubled gazeThrough bush, through forest, o'er the lea;
Thou art invoked by all my lays;Oh, come then, loved one, back to me!1789.*
To Belinda.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[This song was also written for Lily. Goethe
mentions, at the end of his Autobiography, that he overheard her
singing it one evening after he had taken his last farewell of her.]
To Francis Beaumont
© Benjamin Jonson
How I do love thee, Beaumont, and thy muse,
That unto me dost such religion use!
The Zilver-Weed
© William Barnes
The zilver-weed upon the green,
Out where my sons an' daughters play'd,
The Tunnel
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Sitting with strangers in the hurrying train,
We spoke not to each other. Golden May
Flooded those warm fields greener from the rain,
Then sudden darkness stole it all away.
The Pupil In Magic.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
I AM now,--what joy to hear it!--Of the old magician rid;
And henceforth shall ev'ry spiritDo whate'er by me is bid;I have watch'd with rigourAll he used to do,And will now with vigourWork my wonders too.
Wander, wanderOnward lightly,So that rightlyFlow the torrent,And with teeming waters yonderIn the bath discharge its current!And now come, thou well-worn broom,And thy wretched form bestir;
Thou hast ever served as groom,So fulfil my pleasure, sir!On two legs now stand,With a head on top;Waterpail in hand,Haste, and do not stop!
To Charlotte.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
'MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,'Midst full many a sorrow, many a care,
Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,How, at evening's hour so fair,
Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,When thou, in some happy placeWhere more fair is Nature s face,Many a lightly-hidden trace
Of a spirit loved didst teach us.Well 'tis that thy worth I rightly knew,--That I, in the hour when first we met,While the first impression fill'd me yet,
The Optimist.
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing
Or note enlivened the depressing wood,
