Poems begining by T
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The Troll's Nosegay
© Robert Graves
A simple nosegay! Was that much to ask?
(Winter still nagged, with scarce a bud yet showing.)
He loved her ill, if he resigned the task.
'Somewhere,' she cried, 'there must be blossom blowing.'
The Poet in the Nursery
© Robert Graves
The youngest poet down the shelves was fumbling
In a dim library, just behind the chair
From which the ancient poet was mum-mumbling
A song about some Lovers at a Fair,
Pulling his long white beard and gently grumbling
That rhymes were beastly things and never there.
The City Clocks
© Padraic Colum
THE City clocks point out the hours
They look like moons on their darkened towers-
The Assault Heroic
© Robert Graves
Down in the mud I lay,
Tired out by my long day
Of five damned days and nights,
Five sleepless days and nights,
The Idler
© Jones Very
I IDLE stand that I may find employ,
Such as my Master when He comes will give;
The Shivering Beggar
© Robert Graves
NEAR Clapham village, where fields began,
Saint Edward met a beggar man.
It was Christmas morning, the church bells tolled,
The old man trembled for the fierce cold.
The Snapped Thread
© Robert Graves
Desire, first, by a natural miracle
United bodies, united hearts, blazed beauty;
Transcended bodies, transcended hearts.
The Negro's Friend
© Claude McKay
There is no radical the Negro's friend
Who points some other than the classic road
The Last Post
© Robert Graves
The bugler sent a call of high romance
Lights out! Lights out! to the deserted square.
On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer,
God, if its this for me next time in France
The Travellers' Curse after Misdirection
© Robert Graves
(from the Welsh)May they stumble, stage by stage
On an endless Pilgrimage
Dawn and dusk, mile after mile
At each and every step a stile
The Frog and the Golden Ball
© Robert Graves
She let her golden ball fall down the well
And begged a cold frog to retrieve it;
For which she kissed his ugly, gaping mouth -
Indeed, he could scarce believe it.
To My Guardian Angel
© Frances Anne Kemble
Merciful spirit! who thy bright throne above
Hast left, to wander through this dismal earth
The Caterpillar
© Robert Graves
Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A creeping, coloured caterpillar,
I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn spray,
I nibble it leaf by leaf away.
The Bough of Nonsense
© Robert Graves
Where once a nonsense built her nest
With skulls and flowers and all things queer,
In an old boot, with patient breast
Hatching three eggs; and the next year
S. Foaled thirteen squamous young beneath, and rid
Wales of drink, melancholy, and psalms, she did.
The Cottage
© Robert Graves
Here in turn succeed and rule
Carter, smith, and village fool,
Then again the place is known
As tavern, shop, and Sunday-school;
To Robert Nichols
© Robert Graves
(From Frise on the Somme in February, 1917, in answer to a letter saying: I am just finishing my Fauns Holiday. I wish you were here to feed him with cherries.)
Here by a snowbound river
In scrapen holes we shiver,
And like old bitterns we
The Persian Version
© Robert Graves
Truth-loving Persians do not dwell upon
The trivial skirmish fought near Marathon.
As for the Greek theatrical tradition
Which represents that summer's expedition
The Thieves
© Robert Graves
Lovers in the act despense
With such meum-tuum sense
As might warningly reveal
What they must not pick or steal,
And their nostrum is to say:
'I and you are both away.'
The Oak
© Alfred Tennyson
Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;
The Next War
© Robert Graves
You young friskies who today
Jump and fight in Fathers hay
With bows and arrows and wooden spears,
Playing at Royal Welch Fusiliers,
