Poems begining by T
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Three Flowers
© William Watson
I made a little song about the rose
And sang it for the rose to hear,
Nor ever marked until the music's close
A lily that was listening near.
The Flaâneur
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I love all sights of earth and skies,
From flowers that glow to stars that shine;
The comet and the penny show,
All curious things, above, below,
Troilus And Criseyde: Book 02
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Incipit Prohemium Secundi Libri.
Out of these blake wawes for to sayle,
The Dorchester Giant
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THERE was a giant in time of old,
A mighty one was he;
He had a wife, but she was a scold,
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold;
And he had children three.
The Organ-Blower
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
DEVOUTEST of my Sunday friends,
The patient Organ-blower bends;
I see his figure sink and rise,
(Forgive me, Heaven, my wandering eyes!)
The Living Temple
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
NOT in the world of light alone,
Where God has built his blazing throne,
Nor yet alone in earth below,
With belted seas that come and go,
The Might Have Been
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
ONCE in the twilight hour there stole on me
A strange, sweet spirit! In her tender eyes
Shone a far beauty, like the morning skies,
And tranquil was she as a summer sea;
The Opening of the Piano
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
IN the little southern parlor of tbe house you may have seen
With the gambrel-roof, and the gable looking westward to the green,
At the side toward the sunset, with the window on its right,
Stood the London-made piano I am dreaming of to-night!
The September Gale
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I'M not a chicken; I have seen
Full many a chill September,
And though I was a youngster then,
That gale I well remember;
The Iron Gate
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
WHERE is this patriarch you are kindly greeting?
Not unfamiliar to my ear his name,
Nor yet unknown to many a joyous meeting
In days long vanished,-- is he still the same,
The Voiceless
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
WE count the broken lyres that rest
Where the sweet wailing singers slumber,
But o'er their silent sister's breast
The wild-flowers who will stoop to number?
The Sylph
© Francis Ledwidge
I saw you and I named a flower
That lights with blue a woodland space,
I named a bird of the red hour
And a hidden fairy place.
The Silent Melody
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
"BRING me my broken harp," he said;
"We both are wrecks,-- but as ye will,--
Though all its ringing tones have fled,
Their echoes linger round it still;
It had some golden strings, I know,
But that was long-- how long!-- ago.
The Three Silences Of Molinos
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Three Silences there are: the first of speech,
The second of desire, the third of thought;
The Two Streams
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
So from the heights of Will
Life's parting stream descends,
And, as a moment turns its slender rill,
Each widening torrent bends, --
The Height of the Ridiculous
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I WROTE some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.
The Flower of Liberty
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
WHAT flower is this that greets the morn,
Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming band
It kindles all the sunset land:
Oh tell us what its name may be,--
Is this the Flower of Liberty?
To-Morrow
© George MacDonald
My TO-MORROW is but a flitting
Fancy of the brain;
God's TO-MORROW an angel sitting,
Ready for joy or pain.
The Last Leaf
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
