Poems begining by T
/ page 707 of 916 /
Thunderstorms
© William Henry Davies
My mind has thunderstorms,
That brood for heavy hours:
Until they rain me words,
My thoughts are drooping flowers
And sulking, silent birds.
This Night
© William Henry Davies
This night, as I sit here alone,
And brood on what is dead and gone,
The owl that's in this Highgate Wood,
Has found his fellow in my mood;
To every star, as it doth rise -
Oh-o-o! Oh-o-o! he shivering cries.
The Villain
© William Henry Davies
While joy gave clouds the light of stars,
That beamed wher'er they looked;
And calves and lambs had tottering knees,
Excited, while they sucked;
The Sluggard
© William Henry Davies
A jar of cider and my pipe,
In summer, under shady tree;
A book by one that made his mind
Live by its sweet simplicity:
The New Year
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE wave is breaking on the shore,
The echo fading from the chime;
Again the shadow moveth o'er
The dial-plate of time!
The Sleepers
© William Henry Davies
As I walked down the waterside
This silent morning, wet and dark;
Before the cocks in farmyards crowed,
Before the dogs began to bark;
Before the hour of five was struck
By old Westminster's mighty clock:
The Scourge of Villainy
© John Marston
In serious jest, and jesting seriousness,
I strive to scourge polluting beastliness;
I invocate no Delian deity,
No sacred offspring of Mnemosyne;
The Rain
© William Henry Davies
I hear leaves drinking rain;
I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
'Tis a sweet noise to hear
These green leaves drinking near.
The Dead Moment
© Muriel Stuart
THE world is changed between us, never more
Shall the dawn rise and seek another mate
The Moon
© William Henry Davies
Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul,
Oh, thou fair Moon, so close and bright;
Thy beauty makes me like the child
That cries aloud to own thy light:
The little child that lifts each arm
To press thee to her bosom warm.
The Mind's Liberty
© William Henry Davies
The mind, with its own eyes and ears,
May for these others have no care;
No matter where this body is,
The mind is free to go elsewhere.
The Likeness
© William Henry Davies
When I came forth this morn I saw
Quite twenty cloudlets in the air;
And then I saw a flock of sheep,
Which told me how these clouds came there.
The Kingfisher
© William Henry Davies
It was the Rainbow gave thee birth,
And left thee all her lovely hues;
And, as her mothers name was Tears,
So runs it in my blood to choose
The Hermit
© William Henry Davies
WHAT moves that lonely man is not the boom
Of waves that break agains the cliff so strong;
Nor roar of thunder, when that travelling voice
Is caught by rocks that carry far along.
The Heap of Rags
© William Henry Davies
One night when I went down
Thames' side, in London Town,
A heap of rags saw I,
And sat me down close by.
The Soul's Complaint Against The Body. (From The Anglo-Saxon)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Much it behoveth
Each one of mortals,
The Hawk
© William Henry Davies
Thou dost not fly, thou art not perched,
The air is all around:
What is it that can keep thee set,
From falling to the ground?
The Double Ninth
© Mao Zedong
Man ages all too easily, not Nature;
Year by year the Double Ninth returns.
The Happy Child
© William Henry Davies
I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick --
But not one like the child did pick.I heard the packhounds in green park --
But no dog like the child heard bark.I heard this day bird after bird --
But not one like the child has heard.A hundred butterflies saw I --
The Flood
© William Henry Davies
I thought my true love slept;
Behind her chair I crept
And pulled out a long pin;
The golden flood came out,
She shook it all about,
With both our faces in.
