Poems begining by T
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To William Theodore Peters On His Renaissance Cloak
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
The cherry-coloured velvet of your cloak
Time hath not soiled: its fair embroideries
The Bliss Of Sorrow.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Tears that eternal love sheddeth!
How dreary, how dead doth the world still appear,
When only half-dried on the eye is the tear!
The Godlike.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
NOBLE be man,
Helpful and good!
For that alone
Distinguisheth him
From all the beings
Unto us known.
The Old Survey
© Anonymous
Our money's all spent, to the deuce it went!
The landlord, he looks glum;
The Dance Of Death.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
And the churchyard like day seems to glow.
When see! first one grave, then another opes wide,
And women and men stepping forth are descried,
The Hunter's Even-song.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THE plain with still and wand'ring feet,And gun full-charged, I tread,
And hov'ring see thine image sweet,Thine image dear, o'er head.In gentle silence thou dost fareThrough field and valley dear;
But doth my fleeting image ne'erTo thy mind's eye appear?His image, who, by grief oppress'd,Roams through the world forlorn,
And wanders on from east to west,Because from thee he's torn?When I would think of none but thee,Mine eyes the moon survey;
The Dark Day
© William Carlos Williams
A three-day-long rain from the east-
an terminable talking, talking
To The Moon.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
BUSH and vale thou fill'st againWith thy misty ray,
And my spirit's heavy chainCastest far away.Thou dost o'er my fields extendThy sweet soothing eye,
Watching like a gentle friend,O'er my destiny.Vanish'd days of bliss and woeHaunt me with their tone,
Joy and grief in turns I know,As I stray alone.Stream beloved, flow on! flow on!Ne'er can I be gay!
To Lina.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
SHOULD these songs, love, as they fleet,Chance again to reach thy hand,
At the piano take thy seat,Where thy friend was wont to stand!Sweep with finger bold the string,Then the book one moment see:
But read not! do nought but sing!And each page thine own will be!Ah, what grief the song impartsWith its letters, black on white,
That, when breath'd by thee, our heartsNow can break and now delight!1800.*
The Whistling Girl
© Dorothy Parker
Back of my back, they talk of me,
Gabble and honk and hiss;
Let them batten, and let them be-
Me, I can sing them this:
The Muses' Son.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[Goethe quotes the beginning of this song in
his Autobiography, as expressing the manner in which his poetical
effusions used to pour out from him.]
The Ship Of Earth.
© Sidney Lanier
"Thou Ship of Earth, with Death, and Birth, and Life, and Sex aboard,
And fires of Desires burning hotly in the hold,
I fear thee, O! I fear thee, for I hear the tongue and sword
At battle on the deck, and the wild mutineers are bold!
Trilogy of Passion: III. ATONEMENT.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear;
The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveres
The godlike worth of music as of tears.
The Slavery Of Greece
© George Canning
Unrivall'd Greece! thou ever honor'd name,
Thou nurse of heroes dear to deathless fame!
Though now to worth, to honor all unknown,
Thy lustre faded, and thy glories flown;
Yet still shall Memory, with reverted eye,
Trace thy past worth, and view thee with a sigh.
To The Grasshopper.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[The strong resemblance of this fine poem to
Cowley's Ode bearing the same name, and beginning "Happy insect!
what can be," will be at once seen.]
The Fox And Crane.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
ONCE two persons uninvitedCame to join my dinner table;
For the nonce they lived united,Fox and crane yclept in fable.Civil greetings pass'd between usThen I pluck'd some pigeons tender
For the fox of jackal-genius,Adding grapes in full-grown splendour.Long-neck'd flasks I put as dishesFor the crane, without delaying,
Fill'd with gold and silver fishes,In the limpid water playing.Had ye witness'd Reynard plantedAt his flat plate, all demurely,
The Mountain Castle.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THERE stands on yonder high mountainA castle built of yore,
Where once lurked horse and horsemanIn rear of gate and of door.Now door and gate are in ashes,And all around is so still;
And over the fallen ruinsI clamber just as I will.Below once lay a cellar,With costly wines well stor'd;
No more the glad maid with her pitcherDescends there to draw from the hoard.No longer the goblet she placesBefore the guests at the feast;
The Vanity of Human Wishes: The Tenth Satire of Juvenal, Imitated by Samuel Johnson
© Samuel Johnson
Yet still the gen'ral Cry the Skies assails
And Gain and Grandeur load the tainted Gales;
Few know the toiling Statesman's Fear or Care,
Th' insidious Rival and the gaping Heir.
The Heathrose.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Heathrose fair and tender,
All array'd in youthful pride,--
Quickly to the spot he hied,
The Same.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[Written at night on the Kickelhahn, a hill
in the forest of Ilmenau, on the walls of a little hermitage where
Goethe composed the last act of his Iphigenia.]
