Poems begining by T
/ page 724 of 916 /
Thar's More In the Man Than Thar Is In The Land
© Sidney Lanier
I knowed a man, which he lived in Jones,
Which Jones is a county of red hills and stones,
And he lived pretty much by gittin' of loans,
And his mules was nuthin' but skin and bones,
And his hogs was flat as his corn-bread pones,
And he had 'bout a thousand acres o' land.
The Wood Giant
© John Greenleaf Whittier
From Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome,
From Mad to Saco river,
For patriarchs of the primal wood
We sought with vain endeavor.
Tears Of The fatherland
© Andreas Gryphius
So, now we are destroyed; utterly; more than utterly!
The gang of shameless peoples, the maddening music of war,
The Rock
© Madison Julius Cawein
Here, at its base, in dingled deeps
Of spice-bush, where the ivy creeps,
The Shepherd's Tree
© John Clare
Huge elm, with rifted trunk all notched and scarred,
Like to a warrior's destiny! I love
To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward,
And hear the laugh of summer leaves above;
To A Fallen Elm
© John Clare
Old Elm that murmured in our chimney top
The sweetest anthem autumn ever made
And into mellow whispering calms would drop
When showers fell on thy many coloured shade
The Cuckoo
© John Clare
The cuckoo, like a hawk in flight,
With narrow pointed wings
Whews o'er our headssoon out of sight
And as she flies she sings:
The Vixen
© John Clare
Among the taller wood with ivy hung,
The old fox plays and dances round her young.
She snuffs and barks if any passes by
And swings her tail and turns prepared to fly.
The Mores
© John Clare
Far spread the moorey ground a level scene
Bespread with rush and one eternal green
That never felt the rage of blundering plough
Though centurys wreathed spring's blossoms on its brow
The Landrail
© John Clare
How sweet and pleasant grows the way
Through summer time again
While Landrails call from day to day
Amid the grass and grain
The Instinct Of Hope
© John Clare
Is there another world for this frail dust
To warm with life and be itself again?
Something about me daily speaks there must,
And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain?
The Thrush's Nest
© John Clare
Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush
That overhung a molehill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound
The Charm
© Edith Nesbit
LIKE crimson lamps the tulips swing,
The lily flowers their incense bring,
The daisies votive garlands fling
Before the altar of the Spring.
The Maple Tree
© John Clare
The Maple with its tassell flowers of green
That turns to red, a stag horn shapèd seed
Just spreading out its scallopped leaves is seen,
Of yellowish hue yet beautifully green.
The Flood
© John Clare
On Lolham Brigs in wild and lonely mood
I've seen the winter floods their gambols play
Through each old arch that trembled while I stood
Bent o'er its wall to watch the dashing spray
The Nightingale's Nest
© John Clare
Up this green woodland-ride let's softly rove,
And list the nightingale she dwells just here.
Hush ! let the wood-gate softly clap, for fear
The noise might drive her from her home of love ;
"That ancient tree, dont let it fall"
© Hans Christian Andersen
That ancient tree, dont let it fall
Until old age is knelling;
