Poems begining by T
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LIV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
HE DESIRES THE IMPOSSIBLE
If it were possible the fierce sun should,
Standing in heaven unloved, companionless,
Enshrinèd be in some white--bosomed cloud,
The Needless Alarm. A Tale
© William Cowper
Moral
Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day,
Live till to-morrow, will have passd away.
To Memory
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Strange Power, I know not what thou art,
Murderer or mistress of my heart.
I know I'd rather meet the blow
Of my most unrelenting foe
Than live---as now I live---to be
Slain twenty times a day by thee.
The Witch
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
I HAVE walked a great while over the snow,
And I am not tall nor strong.
My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set,
And the way was hard and long.
To M. T.
© James Bayard Taylor
THOUGH thy constant love I share,
Yet its gift is rarer;
In my youth I thought thee fair:
Thou art older and fairer!
The Other Side of a Mirror
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Her lips were open - not a sound
Came though the parted lines of red,
Whate'er it was, the hideous wound
In silence and secret bled.
No sigh relieved her speechless woe,
She had no voice to speak her dread.
The Welcome
© Abraham Cowley
Go, let the fatted calf be kill'd;
My prodigal's come home at last,
With noble resolutions fill'd,
And fill'd with sorrow for the past:
No more will burn with love or wine;
But quite has left his women and his swine.
The Oak
© James Russell Lowell
What gnarled stretch, what depth of shade, is his!
There needs no crown to mark the forest's king;
The Spider Queen
© Edith Nesbit
IN the deep heart of furthest fairyland
Where foot of man has never trodden yet
The enchanted portals of her palace stand,
And there her sleepless sentinels are set.
To The Canary Bird
© Jones Very
I cannot hear thy voice with others' ears,
Who make of thy lost liberty a gain;
The Roast Beef Of Old England
© Henry Fielding
When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food,
It ennobled our hearts, and enriched our blood;
Our soldiers were brave, and our courtiers were good.
_O, the Roast Beef of old England,
And O, the old English Roast Beef_!
To The Earl Of Clare
© George Gordon Byron
The recollectlon seems alone
Dearer than all the joys I've known,
When distant far from you:
Though pain, 'tis still a pleasing pain,
To trace those days and hours again,
And sigh again, adieu!
The Road That Runs Beside The River
© Thomas Lux
follows the river as it bends
along the valley floor,
going the way it must.
Where water goes, so goes the road,
The New York Skyscraper
© Madison Julius Cawein
The Woolworth Building
ENORMOUSLY it lifts
Its tower against the splendor of the west;
Like some wild dream that drifts
The Man Into Whose Yard You Should Not Hit Your Ball
© Thomas Lux
each day mowed
and mowed his lawn, his dry quarter acre,
the machine slicing a wisp
from each blade's tip. Dust storms rose
Torn Shades
© Thomas Lux
How, in the first place, did
they get torn-pulled down hard
too many times: to hide a blow,
or sex, or a man
Then And Now
© John McCrae
Beneath her window in the fragrant night
I half forget how truant years have flown
Since I looked up to see her chamber-light,
Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow thrown
The Warrior
© John McCrae
Or in the stifling 'tween decks, row on row,
At Aboukir, saw how the dead men lay;
Charged with the fiercest in Busaco's strife,
Brave dreams are his -- the flick'ring lamp burns low --
Yet couraged for the battles of the day
He goes to stand full face to face with life.
