Poems begining by T
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The Englishman
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Born in the flesh, and bred in the bone,
Some of us harbour still
The Unconquered Dead
© John McCrae
Not we the conquered! Not to us the blame
Of them that flee, of them that basely yield;
Nor ours the shout of victory, the fame
Of them that vanquish in a stricken field.
The Song Of The Derelict
© John McCrae
Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes
(I scorn your beguiling, O sea!)
Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes.
(A treacherous lover, the sea!)
The Pilgrims
© John McCrae
An uphill path, sun-gleams between the showers,
Where every beam that broke the leaden sky
Lit other hills with fairer ways than ours;
Some clustered graves where half our memories lie;
And one grim Shadow creeping ever nigh:
And this was Life.
The Oldest Drama
© John McCrae
"It fell on a day, that he went out to his father to the reapers.
And he said unto his father, My head, my head. And he said to a lad,
Carry him to his mother. And . . . he sat on her knees till noon,
and then died. And she went up, and laid him on the bed. . . .
And shut the door upon him and went out."
The Gay Gordons
© Sir Henry Newbolt
(Dargai, October 20, 1897)
Whos for the Gathering, who's for the Fair?
The Night Cometh
© John McCrae
Cometh the night. The wind falls low,
The trees swing slowly to and fro:
Around the church the headstones grey
Cluster, like children strayed away
But found again, and folded so.
The Hope Of My Heart
© John McCrae
I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;
I prayed that God might have her in His care
And sight.
Tescott
© William Herbert Carruth
Somewhere out West there lies a sloping plain
That looks across the winding river track
The Harvest Of The Sea
© John McCrae
The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
The Dying Of Pere Pierre
© John McCrae
". . . with two other priests; the same night he died,
and was buried by the shores of the lake that bears his name."
Chronicle.
The Dead Master
© John McCrae
Amid earth's vagrant noises, he caught the note sublime:
To-day around him surges from the silences of Time
A flood of nobler music, like a river deep and broad,
Fit song for heroes gathered in the banquet-hall of God.
The First Rule Of Golf
© Edgar Albert Guest
(In which Ye Ed attempts the millionaire's game and obeys the first rule of golf, which is to put back the turf.)
The Captain
© John McCrae
Here all the day she swings from tide to tide,
Here all night long she tugs a rusted chain,
A masterless hulk that was a ship of pride,
Yet unashamed: her memories remain.
The Anxious Dead
© John McCrae
O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear
Above their heads the legions pressing on:
(These fought their fight in time of bitter fear,
And died not knowing how the day had gone.)
To Daisies
© Francis Thompson
Ah, drops of gold in whitening flame
Burning, we know your lovely name -
The Fault Is Not Mine
© Walter Savage Landor
The fault is not mine if I love you too much,
I loved you too little too long,
Such ever your graces, your tenderness such,
And the music the heart gave the tongue.
To The Eleven Ladies
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
"WHO gave this cup?" The secret thou wouldst steal
Its brimming flood forbids it to reveal:
No mortal's eye shall read it till he first
Cool the red throat of thirst.
Truly Great
© William Henry Davies
My walls outside must have some flowers,
My walls within must have some books;
A house that's small; a garden large,
And in it leafy nooks.
