Poems begining by T
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Tales in the beginning
© Ivan Donn Carswell
In the beginning that was all there was,
a new forged social unity of the self aware
in a community of need, a bare structure
to belie the complexities to come,
but it was where the tales all must have begun.
To The Gad-Fly
© George Moses Horton
Majestic insect! from thy royal hum,
The flies retreat, or starve before they'll come;
The obedient plough-horse may, devoid of fear,
Perform his task with joy, when thou art near.
The Companions
© Alfred Noyes
How few are they that voyage through the night
On that eternal quest,
For that strange light beyond our light,
That rest beyond our rest.
To Roosevelt {2}
© Rubén Dario
It is with the voice of the Bible, or the verse of Walt Whitman,
that I should come to you, Hunter,
primitive and modern, simple and complicated,
with something of Washington and more of Nimrod.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf XVII. -- King Svend Of T
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Loudly the sailors cheered
Svend of the Forked Beard,
The Forlorn
© James Russell Lowell
The night is dark, the stinging sleet,
Swept by the bitter gusts of air,
Drives whistling down the lonely street,
And glazes on the pavement bare.
To-- : From The French
© George Gordon Byron
Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
Sever'd from thy faithful few?
The Hill Of Death
© Louisa Lawson
No downward path to death we go
Through no dark shades or valleys low,
But up and on oer rises bright
Toward the dawn of endless light.
The Fishing Outfit
© Edgar Albert Guest
You may talk of stylish raiment,
You may boast your broadcloth fine,
The Faire Begger
© Richard Lovelace
I.
Comanding asker, if it be
Pity that you faine would have,
Then I turne begger unto thee,
To Myra
© James Thomson
O thou, whose tender serious eyes
Expressive speak the mind I love;
The gentle azure of the skies,
The pensive shadows of the grove;
The Sea to the Shell
© David MacDonald Ross
The sea, my mother, is singing to me,
She is singing the old refrain,
Of passion, of love, and of mystery,
And her world-old song of pain;
Of the mirk midnight and the dazzling day,
That trail their robes o'er the wet sea-way.
The Acorn
© Francis William Bourdillon
An acorn swung
On an oak-tree bough;
So long it had hung,
It would fain fall now
The Fugitive
© Mary Darby Robinson
Oft have I seen yon Solitary Man
Pacing the upland meadow. On his brow
The Sea-Shell
© Virna Sheard
Oh, fairy palace of pink and pearl
Frescoed with filigree silver-white,
Down in the silence beneath the sea
God by Himself must have fashioned thee
Just for His own delight!
The Sentry
© Wilfred Owen
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
The Nativity
© William Cowper
Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt,
The trophy of thy glory shall be built;
My selfdisdain shall be the unshaken base,
And my deformity its fairest grace;
For destitute of good, and rich in ill,
Must be my state and my description still.
The Mountain Heart's-Ease
© Francis Bret Harte
By scattered rocks and turbid waters shifting,
By furrowed glade and dell,
To feverish men thy calm, sweet face uplifting,
Thou stayest them to tell
The Fox
© John Clare
The shepherd on his journey heard when nigh
His dog among the bushes barking high;
