Poems begining by T
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The Aeolian Harp
© Herman Melville
List the harp in window wailing
Stirred by fitful gales from sea:
Shrieking up in mad crescendo--
Dying down in plaintive key!
To The White Julienne
© Mary Hannay Foott
AGAIN above thy fragile flowers
I bend, to bring their perfume nigh;
The Overlander
© Anonymous
There's a trade you all know well -
It's bringing cattle over:
I'll tell you all about the time
When I became a drover.
The Sermon in the Stocking
© Anonymous
The supper is over, the hearth is swept,
And in the wood-fire's glow
The children cluster to hear a tale
Of that time so long ago,
The Poets
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
When this young Land has reached its wrinkled prime,
And we are gone and all our songs are done,
To The Men At Home
© Edgar Albert Guest
No war is won by cannon fire alone;
The soldier bears the grim and dreary role;
The Fairy West
© Henry Lawson
P.S.: I was in Yewklid the day I finished
Me edyercashun in those times dim
My younger brother cleared out to Queensland,
Twas mountains and rivers that finished him.
"This dainty instrument, this tabletoy"
© Richard Monckton Milnes
This dainty instrument, this table--toy,
Might seem best fitted for the use and joy
Of some high Ladie in old gallant times,
Or gay--learned weaver of Provencal rhymes:
The Southern Pulpit
© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
The Southern pulpit, in our eyes,
Descends to make a compromise
With evil things in heaven's name;
The kind that brings a blush of shame.
The Year
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
The crocus, while the days are dark,
Unfolds its saffron sheen;
At April's touch the crudest bark
Discovers gems of green.
The Birth Of Love
© Edgar Albert Guest
I REMEMBER the first tiny cry that she gave
And my heart felt a thrill that it never had known,
The Peau De Chagrin Of State Street
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
How beauteous is the bond
In the manifold array
Of its promises to pay,
While the eight per cent it gives
And the rate at which one lives
Correspond!
The Dance of the Rain
© Eugene Marais
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
First, over the hilltop she peeps stealthily
The Bereaved
© Robert Laurence Binyon
We grudged not those that were dearer than all we possessed,
Lovers, brothers, sons.
Our hearts were full, and out of a full heart
We gave our belovèd ones.
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 14
© William Langland
"I have but oon hool hater,' quod Haukyn, "I am the lasse to blame
Though it be soiled and selde clene - I slepe therinne o nyghtes;
And also I have an houswif, hewen and children -
Uxorem duxi, et ideo non possum venire -
That wollen bymolen it many tyme, maugree my chekes.
