Poems begining by T
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The Daguerreotype
© William Vaughn Moody
This, then, is she,
My mother as she looked at seventeen,
When she first met my father. Young incredibly,
Younger than spring, without the faintest trace
The Curtain
© Hayden Carruth
renewing field of corpse-flesh.
In this valley the snow falls silently all day and out our window
We see the curtain of it shifting and folding, hiding us away in
The Ungrateful Garden
© Carolyn Kizer
Midas watched the golden crust
That formed over his steaming sores,
Hugged his agues, loved his lust,
But damned to hell the out-of-doors
The Intruder
© Carolyn Kizer
My mother-- preferring the strange to the tame:
Dove-note, bone marrow, deer dung,
Frog's belly distended with finny young,
Leaf-mould wilderness, hare-bell, toadstool,
To a Little Girl That Has Told a Lie
© Ann Taylor
AND has my darling told a lie?
Did she forget that GOD was by?
That GOD, who saw the things she did,
From whom no action can be hid;
Did she forget that GOD could see
And hear, wherever she might be?
The Washing and Dressing
© Ann Taylor
Ah! why will my dear little girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky, and pout?
To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss,
I can't even kiss her without.
The Vulgar Little Lady
© Ann Taylor
"But, mamma, now, " said Charlotte, "pray, don't you believe
That I'm better than Jenny, my nurse?
Only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve;
Her clothes are a thousand times worse.
The Star
© Ann Taylor
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are !
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
The Pin
© Ann Taylor
"Dear me! what signifies a pin!
I'll leave it on the floor;
My pincushion has others in,
Mamma has plenty more:
A miser will I never be,"
Said little heedless Emily.
The Little Cripple's Complaint
© Ann Taylor
I'm a helpless cripple child,
Gentle Christians, pity me;
Once, in rosy health I smiled,
Blithe and gay as you can be,
And upon the village green
First in every sport was seen.
The Field Daisy
© Ann Taylor
I'm a pretty little thing,
Always coming with the spring;
In the meadows green I'm found,
Peeping just above the ground,
And my stalk is cover'd flat
With a white and yellow hat.
The Cut
© Ann Taylor
Well, what's the matter? there's a face
What ! has it cut a vein?
And is it quite a shocking place?
Come, let us look again.
The Cow
© Ann Taylor
Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
Every day and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
The Chatterbox
© Ann Taylor
From morning till night it was Lucy's delight
To chatter and talk without stopping:
There was not a day but she rattled away,
Like water for ever a-dropping.
The Baby's Dance
© Ann Taylor
Dance little baby, dance up high,
Never mind baby, mother is by;
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There little baby, there you go;
The Furl of Fresh-Leaved Dogrose Down
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
The furl of fresh-leaved dogrose down
His cheeks the forth-and-flaunting sun
Had swarthed about with lion-brown
Before the Spring was done.
The Shepherds Brow, Fronting Forked Lightning, Owns
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
The shepherd's brow, fronting forked lightning, owns
The horror and the havoc and the glory
Of it. Angels fall, they are towers, from heavena story
Of just, majestical, and giant groans.
To His Watch
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Field-flown, the departed day no morning brings
Saying This was yours with her, but new one, worse,
And then that last and shortest
The Woodlark
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Teevo cheevo cheevio chee:
O where, what can th?at be?
Weedio-weedio: there again!
So tiny a trickle of s?ng-strain;
The Times Are Nightfall
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Or what is else? There is your world within.
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.
Your will is law in that small commonweal
