Poems begining by T
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The Teams
© Henry Lawson
A cloud of dust on the long white road,
And the teams go creeping on
Inch by inch with the weary load;
And by the power of the green-hide goad
The distant goal is won.
The Vestal
© Katharine Tynan
She goes unwedded all her days
Because some man she never knew,
Her destined mate, has won his bays,
Passed the low door of darkness through.
The Things We Dare Not Tell
© Henry Lawson
The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there,
But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear;
Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we're doing well,
But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell.
The Other Man
© Rudyard Kipling
When the earth was sick and the skies were grey,
And the woods were rotted with rain,
The Dead Man rode through the autumn day
To visit his love again.
The Roaring Days
© Henry Lawson
The night too quickly passes
And we are growing old,
So let us fill our glasses
And toast the Days of Gold;
This Is The First Thing
© Philip Larkin
This is the first thing
I have understood:
Time is the echo of an axe
Within a wood.
Triple Time
© Philip Larkin
This empty street, this sky to blandness scoured,
This air, a little indistinct with autumn
Like a reflection, constitute the present --
A time traditionally soured,
A time unrecommended by event.
The Apparition: A Retrospect
© Herman Melville
Convulsions came; and, where the field
Long slept in pastoral green,
To Father Kronos
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Now once more
Up the toilsome ascent
Hasten, panting for breath!
Up, then, nor idle be,-
Striving and hoping, up, up!
The Spirit Wooed
© Philip Larkin
Once I believed in you,
And then you came,
Unquestionably new, as fame
Had said you were. But that was long ago.
To The Muse Of The North
© William Morris
O muse that swayest the sad Northern Song,
Thy right hand full of smiting & of wrong,
The Little Lives Of Earth And Form
© Philip Larkin
The little lives of earth and form,
Of finding food, and keeping warm,
Are not like ours, and yet
A kinship lingers nonetheless:
We hanker for the homeliness
Of den, and hole, and set.
To Eliza
© George Gordon Byron
Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who to woman deny the soul's future existence!
Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.
The Two Highwaymen
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I LONG have had a quarrel set with Time
Because he robb'd me. Every day of life
Take One Home For The Kiddies
© Philip Larkin
On shallow straw, in shadeless glass,
Huddled by empty bowls, they sleep:
No dark, no dam, no earth, no grass -
Mam, get us one of them to keep.
The Wounded
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
'Thou canst not wish to live,' the surgeon said.
He clutched him, as a soul thrust forth from bliss
The Soldiers Death
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
The day was oer, and in their tent the weaned victors met,
In wine and social gaiety the carnage to forget.
The merry laugh and sparkling jest, the pleasant tale were there
Each heart was free and gladsome then, each brow devoid of care.
The Importance Of Elsewhere
© Philip Larkin
Lonely in Ireland, since it was not home,
Strangeness made sense. The salt rebuff of speech,
Insisting so on difference, made me welcome:
Once that was recognised, we were in touch
To A Friend In Bereavement
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
No comfort, nay, no comfort. Yet would I
In Sorrow's cause with Sorrow intercede.
