Poems begining by T
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To A Buddha Seated On A Lotus
© Sarojini Naidu
LORD BUDDHA, on thy Lotus-throne,
With praying eyes and hands elate,
What mystic rapture dost thou own,
Immutable and ultimate?
What peace, unravished of our ken,
Annihilate from the world of men?
The Soudanese
© William Watson
They wrong'd not us, nor sought 'gainst us to wage
The bitter battle. On their God they cried
To Ireland In The Coming Times
© William Butler Yeats
I know, that I would accounted be
True brother of a company
The Death Knell Is Ringing
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The death knell is ringing
The raven is singing
The earth worm is creeping
The mourners are weeping
Ding dong, bell--
The Bridge
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
This bridge will only take you halfway there
To those mysterious lands you long to see:
Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fairs
And moonlit woods where unicorns run free.
The Beggars
© Sylvia Plath
Nightfall, cold eyeneither disheartens
These goatish tragedians who
Hawk misfortune like figs and chickens
The Green Month
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
WHAT of all the colours shall I bring you for your fairing,
Fit to lay your fingers on, fine enough for you ?
Yellow for the ripened rye, white for ladies' wearing,
Red for briar-roses, or the skies' own blue ?
The Tretis Of The Twa Mariit Women And The Wedo
© William Dunbar
Quhen that the semely had said her sentence to end,
Than all thai leuch apon loft with latis full mery,
And raucht the cop round about full of riche wynis,
And ralyeit lang, or thai wald rest, with ryatus speche.
The Long-Nosed Fair
© Christopher Smart
Once on a time I fair Dorinda kiss'd,
Whose nose was too distinguish'd to be miss'd;
My dear, says I, I fain would kiss you closer,
But tho' your lips say aye--your nose says, no, Sir.--
The image, as in a Hexagram:
© Lew Welch
All winter long he sorts out all he has.
What was well started shall be finished.
What was not, should be thrown away.
The Sweets of Evening
© Christopher Smart
The sweets of evening charm the mind,
Sick of the sultry day;
The body then no more confin'd,
But exercise with freedom join'd,
When Phoebus sheathes his ray.
The Pig
© Christopher Smart
In ev'ry age, and each profession,
Men err the most by prepossession;
But when the thing is clearly shown,
And fairly stated, fully known,
The Deepest Dream
© Mark van Doren
And then we wake. Or do we? Sleep endures
More than the morning can, when shadows lie
Sharper than mountains, and the cleft is real
Between us and our kings. What sun assures
Our courage, and what evening by and by
Descends to rest us, and perhaps to heal?
Tenuous and Precarious
© Stevie Smith
Tenuous and Precarious
Were my guardians,
Precarious and Tenuous,
Two Romans.
The Cities Of White Men
© Anonymous
Those men build many houses:
They dig the earth, and they build;
They cut down the trees, and they build;
They work always - building.
To Giovanni Salzilli, A Roman Poet, In His Illness. Scazons (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
My halting Muse, that dragg'st by choice along
Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song!
The Man In The Dead Machine
© Donald Hall
High on a slope in New Guinea
The Grumman Hellcat
lodges among bright vines
as thick as arms. In 1943,
The Copper Beech by Marie Howe: American Life in Poetry #66 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Some of the most telling poetry being written in our country today has to do with the smallest and briefest of pleasures. Here Marie Howe of New York captures a magical moment: sitting in the shelter of a leafy tree with the rain falling all around.
The Copper Beech
The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto I
© Richard Savage
The solar fires now faint and wat'ry burn,
Just where with ice Aquarius frets his urn!
If thaw'd, forth issue, from its mouth severe,
Raw clouds, that sadden all th' inverted year.
The Legend of Cooee Gully
© Henry Lawson
The strong pine rafters creaked and strained,
Til we thought that the roof would go;
And we felt the box-bark walls bend in
And bulge like calico.
