Poems begining by T
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The LORD and the BRAMBLE
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Often the Bry'r had wish'd to speak,
That this might not be done;
But from the Abject and the Weak,
Who no important Figure make,
What Statesman does not run?
The King and the Shepherd
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
As cou'd be prov'd, but that our plainer Task
Do's no such Toil, or Definitions ask;
But to be so rehears'd, as first 'twas told,
When such old Stories pleas'd in Days of old.
The Giddy Girl
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A giddy young maiden with nimble feet,
Heigh-ho! alack and alas!
The Hymn
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
To the Almighty on his radiant Throne,
Let endless Hallelujas rise!
Praise Him, ye wondrous Heights to us unknown,
Praise Him, ye Heavens unreach'd by mortal Eyes,
Praise Him, in your degree, ye sublunary Skies!
The Hog, The Sheep, And Goat, Carrying To A FAIR
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Who does not wish, ever to judge aright,
And, in the Course of Life's Affairs,
To have a quick, and far extended Sight,
Tho' it too often multiplies his Cares?
And who has greater Sense, but greater Sorrow shares?
The Executor
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
A Greedy Heir long waited to fulfill,
As his Executor, a Kinsman's Will;
And to himself his Age repeated o'er,
To his Infirmities still adding more;
The Equipage
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Since the Road of Life's so ill;
I, to pass it, use this Skill,
My frail Carriage driving home
To its latest Stage, the Tomb.
The Snow
© Emile Verhaeren
Uninterruptedly falls the snow,
Like meagre, long wool-strands, scant and slow,
O'er the meagre, long plain disconsolate.
Cold with lovelessness, warm with hate.
The Dog And His Master
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
NO better Dog e'er kept his Master's Door
Than honest Snarl, who spar'd nor Rich nor Poor;
But gave the Alarm, when any one drew nigh,
Nor let pretended Friends pass fearless by:
For which reprov'd, as better Fed than Taught,
He rightly thus expostulates the Fault.
The Islet And The Palm
© Archibald Lampman
O gentle sister spirit, when you smile
My soul is like a lonely coral isle,
An islet shadowed by a single palm,
Ringed round with reef and foam, but inly calm.
The Critick and the Writer of Fables
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
But here, the Critick bids me check this Vein.
Fable, he crys, tho' grown th' affected Strain,
But dies, as it was born, without Regard or Pain.
Whilst of his Aim the lazy Trifler fails,
Who seeks to purchase Fame by childish Tales.
The Change
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
No lusty Tree that near thee grows,
(Tho' it beneath thy Shelter rose)
Will to thy Age a Staff become.
Fall, wretched Building! to thy Tomb.
Thou, and thy painted Roofs, in Ruin mixt,
Fall to the Earth, for That alone is fixt.
The First Black Flag
© Victor Marie Hugo
JOB. Hast thou ne'er heard men say
That, in the Black Wood, 'twixt Cologne and Spire,
The Cautious Lovers
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Silvia, let's from the Crowd retire;
For, What to you and me
(Who but each other do desire)
Is all that here we see?
The Gaberlunzie's Walk
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
The Laird is dead, the laird is dead,
An' dead is cousin John,
His henchmen ten, an' his sax merrie men,
Forbye the steward's son.
The Bird and the Arras
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
But we degresse and leaue th' imprison'd wretch
Now sinking low now on a loftyer stretch
Flutt'ring in endless cercles of dismay
Till some kind hand directs the certain way
Which through the casement an escape affoards
And leads to ample space the only Heav'n of Birds.
The Old Oak Tree
© Annie McCarer Darlington
Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough:
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'd protect it now.
The Atheist And The Acorn
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Methinks this World is oddly made,
And ev'ry thing's amiss,
A dull presuming Atheist said,
As stretch'd he lay beneath a Shade;
And instanced in this:
The Appology
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
'Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule
I am alone forbid to play the fool
To follow through the Groves a wand'ring Muse
And fain'd Idea's for my pleasures chuse
The Hospital
© Anonymous
"The LORD will strengthen him upon the bed of
languishing: Thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness."
~ Psalm 41:3 ~
