Poems begining by T
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The Dragon-Fly
© Walter Savage Landor
Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream;
I wish no happier one than to be laid
Beneath a cool syringas scented shade,
Or wavy willow, by the running stream,
Brimful of moral, where the dragon-fly,
Wanders as careless and content as I.
To Christina, Queen of Sweden
© Andrew Marvell
Verses to accompany a portrait of Cromwell
Bright Martial Maid, Queen of the frozen zone,
The Resolve
© Sir Walter Scott
In Imitation of An Old English Poem
My wayward fate I needs must plain,
The Prayer
© Mikhail Lermontov
When faints the heart for sorrow,
In life's hard, darkened hour,
My spirit breathes a wondrous prayer
Full of love's inward power.
The Trio
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
We love but once. The great gold orb of light
From dawn to even-tide doth cast his ray;
But the full splendor of his perfect might
Is reached but once throughout the livelong day.
The Haymakers Song
© Alfred Austin
HERES to him that grows it,
Drink, lads, drink!
That lays it in and mows it,
Clink, jugs, clink!
The Spell
© Edith Nesbit
OUR boat has drifted with the stream
That stirs the river's full sweet bosom
And now she stays where gold flags gleam
By meadow-sweet's pale foam of blossom.
To Anne
© George Gordon Byron
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous:
I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you:
But woman is made to command and deceive us
I look 'd in your face, and I almost forgave you.
The Pool
© Hilda Doolittle
Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
What are you - banded one?
The Mysteries Remain
© Hilda Doolittle
The mysteries remain,
I keep the same
cycle of seed-time
and of sun and rain;
To The One Upstairs
© Charles Simic
Boss of all bosses of the universe.
Mr. know-it-all, wheeler-dealer, wire-puller,
And whatever else you're good at.
Go ahead, shuffle your zeros tonight.
Dip in ink the comets' tails.
Staple the night with starlight.
Translation Of A South American Ode
© Oliver Goldsmith
IN all my Enna's beauties blest,
Amidst profusion still I pine;
For though she gives me up her breast,
Its panting tenant is not mine.
The Bather
© Charles Simic
Where the path to the lake twists out of sight,
A puff of dust, the kind bare feet make running,
Is what I saw in the dying light,
Night swooping down everywhere else.
The Partial Explanation
© Charles Simic
Seems like a long time
Since the waiter took my order.
Grimy little luncheonette,
The snow falling outside.
The Adieu
© Louisa Stuart Costello
We part, and thou art mine no more!
I go through seas never sought before,
The Initiate
© Charles Simic
St. John of the Cross wore dark glasses
As he passed me on the street.
St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful and grave,
Turned her back on me.
The White Room
© Charles Simic
The obvious is difficult
To prove. Many prefer
The hidden. I did, too.
I listened to the trees.
