Poems begining by T
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The Guardian-Angel
© Robert Browning
A PICTURE AT FANO.I.Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave
That child, when thou hast done with him, for me!
Let me sit all the day here, that when eve
Shall find performed thy special ministry,
The Twins
© Robert Browning
Grand rough old Martin Luther
Bloomed fables---flowers on furze,
The better the uncouther:
Do roses stick like burrs?
Through The Metodja To Abd-El-Kadr
© Robert Browning
1842IAs I ride, as I ride,
With a full heart for my guide,
So its tide rocks my side,
As I ride, as I ride,
The Englishman In Italy
© Robert Browning
(PIANO DI SORRENTO.)Fortu, Frotu, my beloved one,
Sit here by my side,
On my knees put up both little feet!
I was sure, if I tried,
Two In The Campagna
© Robert Browning
I wonder how you feel to-day
As I have felt since, hand in hand,
We sat down on the grass, to stray
In spirit better through the land,
This morn of Rome and May?
The Italian In England
© Robert Browning
That second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding far and wide
Her blood-hounds through the countryside,
The Lost Mistress
© Robert Browning
All's over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!
The Bishop Orders His Tomb At Saint Praxed's Church
© Robert Browning
Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!
Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?
Nephews -- sons mine -- ah God, I know not! Well --
She, men would have to be your mother once,
The Year's At The Spring
© Robert Browning
The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The Lost Leader
© Robert Browning
Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;
The Patriot
© Robert Browning
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day!
The Pied Piper Of Hamelin
© Robert Browning
"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook
Being worse treated than a Cook?
Insulted by a lazy ribald
With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst!"
The Laboratory
© Robert Browning
Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze through these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?
The Grammar Lesson
© Steve Kowit
A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
To Olivia
© Francis Thompson
I fear to love thee, Sweet, because
Love's the ambassador of loss;
White flake of childhood, clinging so
To my soiled raiment, thy shy snow
To A Snowflake
© Francis Thompson
What heart could have thought you? --
Past our devisal
(O filigree petal!)
Fashioned so purely,
To A Poet Breaking Silence
© Francis Thompson
Too wearily had we and song
Been left to look and left to long,
Yea, song and we to long and look,
Since thine acquainted feet forsook
The Poppy
© Francis Thompson
Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,
And left the flushed print in a poppy there:
Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came,
And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame.
The Hound of Heaven
© Francis Thompson
I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
To Plath, To Sexton
© Jean Valentine
So what use was poetry
to a white empty house?Wolf, swan, hare,
in by the fire.And when your tree
crashed through your house,what use then
