Poems begining by T
/ page 693 of 916 /
Translation From Catullus
© George Gordon Byron
[Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, &c.]
Ye Cupids, droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread;
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,
The Fury Of Guitars And Sopranos
© Anne Sexton
This singing
is a kind of dying,
a kind of birth,
a votive candle.
The Lost Ingredient
© Anne Sexton
Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal
toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost
ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust
would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
The Division Of Parts
© Anne Sexton
1.
Mother, my Mary Gray,
once resident of Gloucester
and Essex County,
The Balance Wheel
© Anne Sexton
Where I waved at the sky
And waited your love through a February sleep,
I saw birds swinging in, watched them multiply
Into a tree, weaving on a branch, cradling a keep
The Robin Redbreast
© Mathilde Blind
But hearken! Yonder russet bird among
The crimson clusters of the homely thorn
Still bubbles o'er with little rills of song-
A blending of sweet hope and resignation:
Even so, when life of love and youth is shorn,
One friend becomes its last, best consolation.
The Exorcists
© Anne Sexton
And I solemnly swear
on the chill of secrecy
that I know you not, this room never,
the swollen dress I wear,
nor the anonymous spoons that free me,
nor this calendar nor the pulse we pare and cover.
The Doctor Of The Heart
© Anne Sexton
Take away your knowledge, Doktor.
It doesn't butter me up.You say my heart is sick unto.
You ought to have more respect!you with the goo on the suction cup.
You with your wires and electrodesfastened at my ankle and wrist,
The Earth Falls Down
© Anne Sexton
If I could blame it all on the weather,
the snow like the cadaver's table,
the trees turned into knitting needles,
the ground as hard as a frozen haddock,
The Gray Chief
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
'T is sweet to fight our battles o'er,
And crown with honest praise
The gray old chief, who strikes no more
The blow of better days.
The Fury Of Jewels And Coal
© Anne Sexton
Many a miner has gone
into the deep pit
to receive the dust of a kiss,
an ore-cell.
The Assassin
© Anne Sexton
The correct death is written in.
I will fill the need.
My bow is stiff.
My bow is in readiness.
The Fall of Jock Gillespie
© Rudyard Kipling
This fell when dinner-time was done -
'Twixt the first an' the second rub -
That oor mon Jock cam' hame again
To his rooms ahist the Club.
The Break
© Anne Sexton
It was also my violent heart that broke,
falling down the front hall stairs.
It was also a message I never spoke,
calling, riser after riser, who cares
The Consecrating Mother
© Anne Sexton
I am that clumsy human
on the shore
loving you, coming, coming,
going,
and wish to put my thumb on you
like The Song of Solomon.
The Fury Of Sunrises
© Anne Sexton
Darkness
as black as your eyelid,
poketricks of stars,
the yellow mouth,
The River Cherwell
© William Lisle Bowles
Cherwell! how pleased along thy willowed edge
Erewhile I strayed, or when the morn began
The Other
© Anne Sexton
Under my bowels, yellow with smoke,
it waits.
Under my eyes, those milk bunnies,
it waits.
The Play
© Anne Sexton
I am the only actor.
It is difficult for one woman
to act out a whole play.
The play is my life,
