Poems begining by T
/ page 677 of 916 /
To His Coy Love
© Michael Drayton
I pray thee leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me.
The Plea of the Simla Dancers
© Rudyard Kipling
Too late, alas! the song
To remedy the wrong; --
The rooms are taken from us, swept and
garnished for their fate.
To James Freeman Clarke
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I BRING the simplest pledge of love,
Friend of my earlier days;
Mine is the hand without the glove,
The heart-beat, not the phrase.
The Peace Of Dives
© Rudyard Kipling
The Word came down to Dives in Torment where he lay:
"Our World is full of wickedness, My Children maim and slay,
"And the Saint and Seer and Prophet
"Can make no better of it
"Than to sanctify and prophesy and pray.
The Palace
© Rudyard Kipling
When I was a King and a Mason -- a Master proven and skilled --
I cleared me ground for a Palace such as a King should build.
I decreed and dug down to my levels. Presently, under the silt,
I came on the wreck of a Palace such as a King had built.
The Overland Mail
© Rudyard Kipling
With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in,
He turns to the foot-path that heads up the hill --
The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin,
And, tucked in his waist-belt, the Post Office bill:
"Despatched on this date, as received by the rail,
Per runnger, two bags of the Overland Mail."
The Outlaws
© Rudyard Kipling
Through learned and laborious years
They set themselves to find
Fresh terrors and undreamed-of fears
To heap upon mankind.
The Only Son
© Rudyard Kipling
She dropped the bar, she shot the bolt, she fed the fire anew
For she heard a whimper under the sill and a great grey paw came through.
The fresh flame comforted the hut and shone on the roof-beam,
And the Only Son lay down again and dreamed that he dreamed a dream.
The Oldest Song
© Rudyard Kipling
"These were never your true love's eyes.
Why do you feign that you love them?
You that broke from their constancies,
And the wide calm brows above them!
The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The First Book
© Robert Southey
The plumeless bat with short shrill note flits by,
And the night-raven's scream came fitfully,
Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the Maid
Look'd to the shore, and now upon the bank
Leaps, joyful to escape, yet trembling still
In recollection.
The Old Issue
© Rudyard Kipling
Here is nothing new nor aught unproven," say the Trumpets,
"Many feet have worn it and the road is old indeed.
"It is the King--the King we schooled aforetime! "
(Trumpets in the marshes-in the eyot at Runnymede!)
The New Knighthood
© Rudyard Kipling
Who gives him the Bath?
"I," said the wet,
Rank-Jungle-sweat,
"I'll give him the Bath!"
The Necessitarian
© Rudyard Kipling
I know not in Whose hands are laid
To empty upon earth
From unsuspected ambuscade
The very Urns of Mirth;
The Triumph
© Siegfried Sassoon
When life was a cobweb of stars for Beauty who came
In the whisper of leaves or a bird's lone cry in the glen,
On dawn-lit hills and horizons girdled with flame
I sought for the triumph that troubles the faces of men.
The Naulahka
© Rudyard Kipling
Beware the man who's crossed in love;
For pent-up steam must find its vent.
Stand back when he is on the move,
And lend him all the Continent.
The Three Urgandas
© Madison Julius Cawein
Cast on sleep there came to me
Three Urgandas; and the sea
The Native-Born
© Rudyard Kipling
And the children nine and ten (Stand up!),
And the life we live and know,
Let a fellow sing o' the little things he cares about,
If a fellow fights for the little things he cares about
With the weight of a two-fold blow!
The Barefooted Friar
© Sir Walter Scott
I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain,
To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain;
But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire,
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.
