Poems begining by T
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Three Flower Petals
© Archibald Lampman
When saw I yesterday walking apart
In a leafy place where the cattle wait?
The Cruel Moon
© Robert Graves
The cruel Moon hangs out of reach
Up above the shadowy beech.
Her face is stupid, but her eye
Is small and sharp and very sly.
The River And The Road
© Roderic Quinn
THE merrymaking's over
The riverside is still,
The Sun, a radiant rover,
Gone down behind the hill.
The Chimney-Sweeps Of Cheltenham
© Alfred Noyes
When hawthorn buds are creaming white,
And the red foolscap all stuck with may,
Then lasses walk with eyes alight,
And it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day.
Two Fusiliers
© Robert Graves
And have we done with War at last?
Well, weve been lucky devils both,
And theres no need of pledge or oath
To bind our lovely friendship fast,
By firmer stuff
Close bound enough.
The Leap Of Roushan Beg. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet,
His chestnut steed with four white feet,
Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou,
Son of the road and bandit chief,
Seeking refuge and relief,
Up the mountain pathway flew.
The Beach
© Robert Graves
Louder than gulls the little children scream
Whom fathers haul into the jovial foam;
But others fearlessly rush in, breast high,
Laughing the salty water from their mouthes--
Heroes of the nursery.
To Lucasta on Going to the War - For the Fourth Time
© Robert Graves
It doesnt matter whats the cause,
What wrong they say were righting,
A curse for treaties, bonds and laws,
When were to do the fighting!
The Cool Web
© Robert Graves
Children are dumb to say how hot the day is,
How hot the scent is of the summer rose,
How dreadful the black wastes of evening sky,
How dreadful the tall soldiers drumming by.
To Juan at the Winter Solstice
© Robert Graves
There is one story and one story only
That will prove worth your telling,
Whether as learned bard or gifted child;
To it all lines or lesser gauds belong
That startle with their shining
Such common stories as they stray into.
The Beast
© Sylvia Plath
He won't be got rid of:
Memblepaws, teary and sorry,
Fido Littlesoul, the bowel's unfamiliar.
A dustbin's enough for him.
The dark's his bone.
Call him any name, he'll come to it.
The Familist's Hymn
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Father! to Thy suffering poor
Strength and grace and faith impart,
The Naked And The Nude
© Robert Graves
For me, the naked and the nude
(By lexicographers construed
As synonyms that should express
The same deficiency of dress
Or shelter) stand as wide apart
As love from lies, or truth from art.
The Recluse
© Wang Wei
Every way the emerald trees shadows.
Each days green moss free of dust.
Wild-haired, stretch-legged, he sits
By the high pine with half-open eyes.
To Hear Her Sing
© James Whitcomb Riley
To hear her sing--to hear her sing--
It is to hear the birds of Spring
In dewy groves on blooming sprays
Pour out their blithest roundelays.
The Serenade
© William Cullen Bryant
If slumber, sweet Lisena!
Have stolen o'er thine eyes,
As night steals o'er the glory
Of spring's transparent skies;
The Storm
© Sara Teasdale
I THOUGHT of you when I was wakened
By a wind that made me glad and afraid
Of the rushing, pouring sound of the sea
That the great trees made.
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Sixth
© William Wordsworth
WHY comes not Francis?--From the doleful City
He fled,--and, in his flight, could hear
The death-sounds of the Minster-bell:
That sullen stroke pronounced farewell
