Poems begining by T
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Time, Real And Imaginary
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
On the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails out-spread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,
The Threshold Stone
© Roderic Quinn
WHEN I went to live in the little house,
That stands on the hilltop alone,
What touched me most of all
Was neither roof nor wall,
True Philosophy
© Edgar Albert Guest
I wouldn't count it worth my while
To sing about a rich man's smile,
Or quote a fellow, trouble free,
An' label that philosophy.
The Nightingale
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!
To The River Otter
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have passed,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Two Visions
© Alfred Austin
The curtains of the Night were folded
Over suspended sense;
So that the things I saw were moulded
I know not how nor whence.
The Captivity
© Oliver Goldsmith
FIRST PROPHET.
AIR.
Our God is all we boast below,
To him we turn our eyes;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise.
The Nightingale Near The House
© Harold Monro
Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn:
It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond
Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond
Stares. And you sing, you sing.
The First Part: Sonnet 12 - Ah! burning thoughts, now let me take some rest,
© William Henry Drummond
Ah! burning thoughts, now let me take some rest,
And your tumultuous broils a while appease;
The Eight Formations
© Du Fu
Your achievements overshadowed
any in the Three Kingdoms;
most famous of all was your design
for the Eight Formations.
To A Young Ass
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Its mother being tethered near itPoor little Foal of an oppress?d race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
The Song Of Life
© George Essex Evans
Sing thou of Toil,
Of toil that moulds to-day the larger morrow!
Move with stout heart on Lifes great battle-field
And wear the motto Progress on thy shield.
All that is best is won through toil and sorrow.
Sing thou of Toil!
They Who Prepare my Evening Meal Below
© Henry David Thoreau
They who prepare my evening meal below
Carelessly hit the kettle as they go
With tongs or shovel,
And ringing round and round,
The Inward Morning
© Henry David Thoreau
What is it gilds the trees and clouds,
And paints the heavens so gay,
But yonder fast-abiding light
With its unchanging ray?
To A New-Born Baby Girl
© Grace Hazard Conkling
And did thy sapphire shallop slip
Its moorings suddenly, to dip
The Broadstone
© Robinson Jeffers
NEAR FINVOY, COUNTY ANTRIM
We climbed by the old quarries to the wide highland of heath,
The Amateur Botanist
© Franklin Pierce Adams
A primrose by a river's brim
_Primula vulgaris_ was to him,
And it was nothing more;
A pansy, delicately reared,
_Viola tricolor_ appeared
In true botanic lore.
The Summer Rain
© Henry David Thoreau
Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough,
What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town,
If juster battles are enacted now
Between the ants upon this hummock's crown?
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLVI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
Thrice happy fools! What wisdom shall we learn
In this world or the next, if next there be,
More deep, more full, more worthy our concern
The Moon
© Henry David Thoreau
Time wears her not; she doth his chariot guide;
Mortality below her orb is placed.
--Raleigh
