Poems begining by T
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The Apology
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Think me not unkind and rude,
That I walk alone in grove and glen;
I go to the god of the wood
To fetch his word to men.
Two Rivers
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
I see the inundation sweet,
I hear the spending of the steam
Through years, through men, through Nature fleet,
Through love and thought, through power and dream.
To the Recluse, Wei Pa
© Tu Fu
Often in this life of ours we resemble, in our failure to meet, the Shen and
Shang constellations, one of which rises as the other one sets. What lucky
chance is it, then, that brings us together this evening under the light of
this same lamp? Youth and vigor last but a little time. --- Each of us now has
Thoughts of Li Po from the World's End
© Tu Fu
Here at the world's end the cold winds are beginning to blow. What messages
have you for me, my master? When will the poor wandering goose arrive? The
rivers and lakes are swollen with autumn's waters. Art detests a too successful
life; and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws. You had better have
a word with the ghost of that other wronged poet. Drop some verses into the
Mi-lo as an offering to him!
The Room
© Mark Strand
It is an old story, the way it happens
sometimes in winter, sometimes not.
The listener falls to sleep,
the doors to the closets of his unhappiness open
The Dreadful Has Already Happened
© Mark Strand
The relatives are leaning over, staring expectantly.
They moisten their lips with their tongues. I can feel
them urging me on. I hold the baby in the air.
Heaps of broken bottles glitter in the sun.
The Remains
© Mark Strand
I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.
The Story Of Our Lives
© Mark Strand
1
We are reading the story of our lives
which takes place in a room.
The room looks out on a street.
The New Poetry Handbook
© Mark Strand
21 If a man finishes a poem,
he shall bathe in the blank wake of his passion
and be kissed by white paper.
The Premier and the Socialist
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"If we should try to raise some cash
On assets of our own,
Do you suppose," the Premier said,
"That we could float a loan?"
"I doubt it," said the Socialist,
And groaned a doleful groan.
The Quest Eternal
© Andrew Barton Paterson
In the march of the boys through Palestine when the noontide fervour glowed,
Over the desert in thirsty line our sunburnt squadrons rode.
They looked at the desert lone and drear, stone ridges and stunted scrub,
And said, "We should have had Ginger here, I bet he'd have found a pub!"
The Pannikin Poet
© Andrew Barton Paterson
There's nothing here sublime,
But just a roving rhyme,
Run off to pass the time,
With nought titanic in.
That V.C.
© Andrew Barton Paterson
He lay as flat as any fish;
His nose had worn a little furrow;
He only had one frantic wish,
That like an ant-bear he could burrow.
The Rhyme of the O'Sullivan
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"For many years I led
The people's onward march;
I was the 'Fountain Head',
The 'Democratic Arch'.
The Old Timer's Steeplechase
© Andrew Barton Paterson
There was never a fence the tracks to guard, --
Some straggling posts defined 'em:
And the day was hot, and the drinking hard,
Till none of the stewards could see a yard
Before nor yet behind 'em!
The Two Devines
© Andrew Barton Paterson
'Twas a wether flock that had come to hand,
Great struggling brutes, that shearers shirk,
For the fleece was filled with the grass and sand,
And seventy sheep was a big day's work.
"At a pound a hundred it's dashed hard lines
To shear such sheep," said the two Devines.
The Lay of the Motor-Car
© Andrew Barton Paterson
We're away! and the wind whistles shrewd
In our whiskers and teeth;
And the granite-like grey of the road
Seems to slide underneath.
The Gundaroo Bullock
© Andrew Barton Paterson
There came a low informer to the Grabben Gullen side,
And he said to Smith the squatter, "You must saddle up and ride,
For your bullock's in the harness-cask of Morgan Donahoo --
He's the greatest cattle-stealer in the whole of Gundaroo."
The Reverend Mullineux
© Andrew Barton Paterson
I'd reckon his weight as eight-stun-eight,
And his height as five-foot-two,
With a face as plain as an eight-day clock
And a walk as brisk as a bantam-cock --
The Federal Bus Conductor and the Old Lady
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Now, don't go trudgin' on alone, but get aboard the trap;
That basket, labelled "Capital", you take it in your lap!
It's nearly time we made a start, so let's 'ave no more talk:
You 'urry up and get aboard, or else stop out and walk.
We've got a flag; we've got a band; out 'orses travels fast;
Ho! Right away, Bill! Let 'em go! The old 'un's come at last!
