Poems begining by T
/ page 640 of 916 /
To A Baby.
© Robert Crawford
I.
Two hands that hold the world in fee,
So tender, yet so bold:
Whatever life has now for me,
The Milkman
© Christopher Morley
EARLY in the morning, when the dawn is on the roofs,
You hear his wheels come rolling, you hear his horses hoofs;
You hear the bottles clinking, and then he drives away:
You yawn in bed, turn over, and begin another day!
That's What I Said
© April Bernard
It pricks the arms like poison,
knowing that some things, once chosen,
are yours and that meanwhile the night comes
much too soon this time of year.
Truth?
© Gerald England
There are 16 million shades of grey
There is no black
There is no white
You have to draw your own line
The Last Time Ever
© Gerald England
1 am peering through blackness
2 am i feel your heart pounding
3 am your fingers running up my spine
4 am my beard between your breasts
Thick Orchards, All in White
© Jean Ingelow
Thick orchards, all in white,
Stand 'neath blue voids of light,
And birds among the branches blithely sing,
For they have all they know;
There is no more, but so,
All perfectness of living, fair delight of spring.
The Truth
© Archibald Lampman
Watch and be still, nor hearken to the fool,
The babbler of consistency and rule:
Wisest is he, who, never quite secure,
Changes his thoughts for better day by day:
To-morrow some new light will shine, be sure,
And thou shalt see thy thought another way.
To Sir Joshua Reynolds
© William Cowper
Dear President, whose art sublime
Gives perpetuity to time,
And bids transactions of a day,
That fleeting hours would waft away
To M. S. G.
© Lord Byron
Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
Yet, I forego that bliss divine,
Alas! it were---unhallow'd bliss.
To M
© Lord Byron
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine:
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
To Mary, On Receiving Her Picture
© Lord Byron
This faint resemblance of thy charms,
(Though strong as mortal art could give,)
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The Second Book
© Robert Southey
She spake, and lo! celestial radiance beam'd
Amid the air, such odors wafting now
The Preference Declared
© Eugene Field
Boy, I detest the Persian pomp;
I hate those linden-bark devices;
To Eliza
© Lord 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.
Thou Whose Spell Can Raise the Dead
© Lord Byron
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
"King, behold the phantom seer!"
The Plough-Hands Song
© Joel Chandler Harris
NIGGER mighty happy wen he layin by con
Dat sun s a-slantin;
The Siege and Conquest of Alhama
© Lord Byron
The Moorish King rides up and down,
Through Granada's royal town;
From Elvira's gate to those
Of Bivarambla on he goes.
Woe is me, Alhama!
There Was A Time, I Need Not Name
© Lord Byron
There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
