Poems begining by T
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To-morrow
© Ada Cambridge
The lighthouse shines across the sea;
The homing fieldfares sing for glee:
To Roosevelt {1}
© Rubén Dario
You are strong, proud model of your race;
you are cultured and able; you oppose Tolstoy.
You are an Alexander-Nebuchadnezzar,
breaking horses and murdering tigers.
(You are a Professor of Energy,
as current lunatics say).
The Song Of The Nine Singers
© Giordano Bruno
O cliffs and rocks! O thorny woods! O shore!
O hills and dales! O valleys, rivers, seas!
How do your new-discovered beauties please?
O Nymph, 'tis yours the guerdon rare,
If now the open skies shine fair;
O happy wanderings, well spent and o'er!
The Black Mammy
© James Weldon Johnson
O whitened head entwined in turban gay,
O kind black face, O crude, but tender hand,
O foster-mother in whose arms there lay
The race whose sons are masters of the land!
The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
© Thomas Hood
I
Alas! That breathing Vanity should go
Where Pride is buried,like its very ghost,
Uprisen from the naked bones below,
The Mysterious Visitor
© Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky
Spirit, lovely guest, who are you?
Whence have you flown down to us?
The Feast Of Lights
© Emma Lazarus
Kindle the taper like the steadfast star
Ablaze on evening's forehead o'er the earth,
The Hoofs Of The Horses
© William Henry Ogilvie
The hoofs of the horses! Oh! witching and sweet
Is the music earth steals from the iron-shod feet;
No whisper of lover, no trilling of bird
Can stir me as hoofs of the horses have stirred.
The Laverock
© George MacDonald
Laverock i' the lift,
Hae ye nae sang-thrift,
'At ye scatter 't sae heigh, and lat it a' drift?
Wasterfu laverock!
To The Poet On The Subject Of Flowers
© Arthur Rimbaud
Thus continually towards the dark azure,
Where the sea of topazes shimmers,
Will function in your evening
The Lilies, those pessaries of ectasy!
The Bridge Builder
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
OF old the Winds came romping down,
Oh, wild and free were they!
They bent the prairie grasses low
And made a place to play.
The Divagator
© Gamaliel Bradford
You think my songs are strange.
I think they are myself.
I let my fancy range
The divagating elf.
To William Wordsworth. Composed On The Night After His Recitation Of A Poem On The Growth Of An Indi
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Friend of the Wise! and Teacher of the Good!
Into my heart have I received that Lay
More than historic, that prophetic Lay
Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)
The Borough. Letter IX: Amusements
© George Crabbe
aloud;
She who will tremble if her eye explore
"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on
The Lily Pond
© Virna Sheard
ON this little pool where the sunbeams lie,
This tawny gold ring where the shadows die,
God doth enamel the blue of His sky.
