Poems begining by T
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The Song of the Beloved
© Theocritus
Sweet is thy mouth, and sweetest tones
Awake from thy lips, Daphnis.
I would rather hear thee sing
Than suck the honeycomb.
The Game Of Chess
© Ezra Pound
DOGMATIC STATEMENT CONCERNING THE GAME OF CHESS:
THEME FOR A SERIES OF PICTURES
The Crucible Of Life
© Edgar Albert Guest
Sunshine and shadow, blue sky and gray,
Laughter and tears as we tread on our way;
Hearts that are heavy, then hearts that are light,
Eyes that are misty and eyes that are bright;
Losses and gains in the heat of the strife,
Each in proportion to round out his life.
The Latest Chinese Outrage
© Francis Bret Harte
It was noon by the sun; we had finished our game,
And was passin' remarks goin' back to our claim;
The Epicure
© Edgar Albert Guest
I've sipped a rich man's sparkling wine,
His silverware I've handled.
The Municipal Gallery Revisited
© William Butler Yeats
AROUND me the images of thirty years:
An ambush; pilgrims at the water-side;
The Village Atheist
© Edgar Lee Masters
Ye young debaters over the doctrine
Of the soul's immortality
I who lie here was the village atheist,
Talkative, contentious, versed in the arguments
Talking (and Singing) of the Nordic Man
© Hilaire Belloc
Behold, my child, the Nordic man,
And be as like him, as you can;
His legs are long, his mind is slow,
His hair is lank and made of tow.
To Edward Noel Long, Esq.
© George Gordon Byron
'Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.'~Horace.
Dear Long, in this sequester'd scene,
While all around in slumber lie,
The Hill
© Edgar Lee Masters
Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom, and Charley,
The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, the boozer, the fighter?
All, all, are sleeping on the hill.
There Is Mercy With Thee
© Augustus Montague Toplady
Lord, should'st thou weigh my righteousness
Or mark what I have done amiss,
How should thy servant stand?
Tho' others might, yet surely I
Must hide my face, nor dare to cry
For mercy at thy hand.
The Suicides Grave (From The German)
© George Borrow
The evening shadows fall upon the grave
On which I sit; it is no common heap,
Below its turf are laid the bones of one,
Who, sick of life and misery, did quench
The vital spark which in his bosom burnd.
The Men Of The Open Spaces
© William Henry Ogilvie
These are the men with the sun-tanned faces
and the keen far-sighted eyes-
the men of the open spaces,
and the land where the mirage lies.
The Rowfant Catalogue
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Friends had he many, neighbours next to none.
Rowfant and Crabbet lay few fields apart.
Each Sunday saw him here, his church drill done,
Duly stroll in to talk of books and art,
The Widow Of Crescentius : Part I.
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
'Midst Tivoli's luxuriant glades,
Bright-foaming falls, and olive shades,
The Sleepers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
As a swallow that sits on the roof,
I gaze on the world aloof;
In the silence, when men lie sleeping,
I hear the noise of weeping:
The Redwing
© Bliss William Carman
I HEAR you, Brother, I hear you,
Down in the alder swamp,
Springing your woodland whistle
To herald the April pomp!
To Mrs. M. B. On Her Birthday
© Alexander Pope
Oh be thou blest with all that Heav'n can send,
Long Health, long Youth, long Pleasure, and a Friend:
