Poems begining by T
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The Snowflake Which Is Now And Hence Forever
© Archibald MacLeish
Will it last? he says.
Is it a masterpiece?
Will generation after generation
Turn with reverence to the page?
The Too-Late Born
© Archibald MacLeish
We too, we too, descending once again
The hills of our own land, we too have heard
Far off --- Ah, que ce cor a longue haleine ---
The horn of Roland in the passages of Spain,
The End Of The World
© Archibald MacLeish
And there, there overhead, there, there hung over
Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,
There in the starless dark the poise, the hover,
There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,
There in the sudden blackness the black pall
Of nothing, nothing, nothing --- nothing at all.
The Stupid Jerk I'm Obsessed With
© Maggie Estep
The stupid jerk I'm obsessed with
stands so close to me
I can feel his breath
on my neck
True Love
© Robert Penn Warren
In silence the heart raves.It utters words
Meaningless, that never had
A meaning.I was ten, skinny, red-headed,
Tell Me a Story
© Robert Penn Warren
Long ago, in Kentucky, I, a boy, stood
By a dirt road, in first dark, and heard
The great geese hoot northward.
The Fledgling
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
So, art thou feahered, art thou flown,
Thou naked thing?and canst alone
Upon the unsolid summer air
Sustain thyself, and prosper there?
Tavern
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May set them down and rest.
To S. M.
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
If he should lie a-dyingI AM not willing you should go
Into the earth, where Helen went;
She is awake by now, I know.
Where Cleopatra's anklets rust
The Blue-Flag In The Bog
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
God had called us, and we came;
Our loved Earth to ashes left;
Heaven was a neighbor's house,
Open to us, bereft.
The Penitent
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
I had a little Sorrow,
Born of a little Sin,
I found a room all damp with gloom
And shut us all within;
The Bean-Stalk
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Ho, Giant! This is I!
I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!
La,but it's lovely, up so high!
The Shroud
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Death, I say, my heart is bowed
Unto thine,O mother!
This red gown will make a shroud
Good as any other!
The Singing-Woman From The Wood's Edge
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
What should I be but a prophet and a liar,
Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?
Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,
What should I be but the fiend's god-daughter?
The Poet And His Book
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Down, you mongrel, Death!
Back into your kennel!
I have stolen breath
In a stalk of fennel!
The Betrothal
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Oh, come, my lad, or go, my lad,
And love me if you like.
I shall not hear the door shut
Nor the knocker strike.
The Merry Maid
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
OH, I am grown so free from care
Since my heart broke!
I set my throat against the air,
I laugh at simple folk!
The Return From Town
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
As I sat down by Saddle Stream
To bathe my dusty feet there,
A boy was standing on the bridge
Any girl would meet there.
The Prisoner
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
ALL right,
Go ahead!
What's in a name?
I guess I'll be locked into
As much as I'm locked out of!
The Wood Road
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
If I were to walk this way
Hand in hand with Grief,
I should mark that maple-spray
Coming into leaf.
