Poems begining by T
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Trio Of Love Songs
© Sylvia Plath
Major faults in granite
mark a mortal lack,
yet individual planet
directs all zodiac.
The Bargain
© Sir Philip Sidney
MY true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for another given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven:
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
The Bison
© Hilaire Belloc
The Bison is vain, and (I write it with pain)
The Door-mat you see on his head
Is not, as some learned professors maintain,
The opulent growth of a genius brain;
But is sewn on with needle and thread.
The Green Of Michigan
© Edgar Albert Guest
I'VE seen the Rockies in the west,
I've seen the canyons wild and grim,
Thou Blind Man's Mark
© Sir Philip Sidney
Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self chosen snare,
Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scatter'd thought,
Band of all evils, cradle of causeless care,
Thou web of will,whose end is never wrought.
The Ancient Lays
© Franklin Pierce Adams
I cannot sing the old songs
I sang long years ago,
But I can always hear them
At any vodevil show.
To The Sad Moon
© Sir Philip Sidney
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What! May it be that even in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries?
The Broken Soldier
© Katharine Tynan
The broken soldier sings and whistles day to dark;
He's but the remnant of a man, maimed and half-blind,
But the soul they could not harm goes singing like the lark,
Like the incarnate Joy that will not be confined.
The Gyres
© William Butler Yeats
THE GYRES! the gyres! Old Rocky Face, look forth;
Things thought too long can be no longer thought,
The Silver Lily
© Louise Gluck
The nights have grown cool again, like the nights
Of early spring, and quiet again. Will
Speech disturb you? We're
Alone now; we have no reason for silence.
The Night-Blooming Cereus
© Harriet Monroe
FLOWER of the moon!
Still white is her brow whom we worshiped on earth long ago;
Yea, purer than pearls in deep seas, and more virgin than snow.
The dull years veil their eyes from her shining, and vanish afraid,
Nor profane her with agethe immortal, nor dim her with shade.
Two Songs Of Spain
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Fountain, cans't thou sing the song
My Juan sang to me
The Eternal
© Edith Nesbit
Your dear desired grace,
Your hands, your lips of red,
The wonder of your perfect face
Will fade, like sweet rose-petals shed,
When you are dead.
The Untrustworthy Speaker
© Louise Gluck
I know myself; I've learned to hear like a psychiatrist.
When I speak passionately,
That's when I'm least to be trusted.
The Pond
© Louise Gluck
Night covers the pond with its wing.
Under the ringed moon I can make out
your face swimming among minnows and the small
echoing stars. In the night air
the surface of the pond is metal.
To Mary Anning
© John Kenyon
Thee, Mary! first 'twas lightning struck,
And then a water-vat half drowned;
The Gold Lily
© Louise Gluck
As I perceive
I am dying now and know
I will not speak again, will not
survive the earth, be summoned
The White Lilies
© Louise Gluck
Hush, beloved. It doesn't matter to me
how many summers I live to return:
this one summer we have entered eternity.
I felt your two hands
bury me to release its splendor.
The Times
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The times are not degenerate. Man's faith
Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling creed
The Fear Of Burial
© Louise Gluck
In the empty field, in the morning,
the body waits to be claimed.
The spirit sits beside it, on a small rock--
nothing comes to give it form again.
