Poems begining by T
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The World
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
By day she woos me, soft, exceeding fair:
But all night as the moon so changeth she;
The Ballad of the Elder Son
© Henry Lawson
A son of elder sons I am,
Whose boyhood days were cramped and scant,
The Maid of Keinton Mandeville (A Tribute To Sir H. Bishop)
© Thomas Hardy
I hear that maiden still
Of Keinton Mandeville
The Last Wooin
© George MacDonald
"O lat me in, my bonny lass!
It's a lang road ower the hill,
And the flauchterin snaw begud to fa'
On the brig ayont the mill!"
The Task: Book V. -- The Winter Morning Walk
© William Cowper
Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds,
Triolets
© Sara Teasdale
Before a lonely shrine
Of foam-born Aphrodite,
Ungarlanded of vine,
Undyed by dripping wine,
Two Songs
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
A BEE that was searching for sweets one day
Through the gate of a rose garden happened to stray.
The Sunset, Woven Of Soft Lights
© Katharine Lee Bates
THE sunset, woven of soft lights
And tender colors, lingers late,
The Greek At Constantinople
© Richard Monckton Milnes
The cypresses of Scutari
In stern magnificence look down
On the bright lake and stream of sea,
And glittering theatre of town:
The Picture Of Sappho
© Caroline Norton
FAME, to thy breaking heart
No comfort could impart,
In vain thy brow the laurel wreath was wearing;
One grief and one alone
Could bow thy bright head down--
Thou wert a WOMAN, and wert left despairing!
The Suicide's Argument
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no
No question was asked me--it could not be so!
If the life was the question, a thing sent to try
And to live on be YES; what can NO be? to die.
The Trembling Tree
© Robert Laurence Binyon
On greenest grass the lace of lights
Beneath the shadowing tree
Trembles, as when eyes more than lips
Are smiling silently.
"The Rock" In El Ghor
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps,
Her stones of emptiness remain;
Around her sculptured mystery sweeps
The lonely waste of Edom's plain.
The French Revolution
© Washington Allston
The Earth has had her visitation. Like to this
She hath not known, save when the mounting waters
To D--
© George Gordon Byron
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp
A friend whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
The Reward
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime,
Sees not the spectre of his misspent time?
And, through the shade
Of funeral cypress planted thick behind,
Hears no reproachful whisper on the wind
From his loved dead?
