Poems begining by T
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The Coquette, and After (Triolets)
© Thomas Hardy
I For long the cruel wish I knew
That your free heart should ache for me
While mine should bear no ache for you;
For, long--the cruel wish!--I knew
To Flowers From Italy in Winter
© Thomas Hardy
Sunned in the South, and here to-day;
--If all organic things
Be sentient, Flowers, as some men say,
What are your ponderings?
The Ivy-Wife
© Thomas Hardy
I LONGED to love a full-boughed beech
And be as high as he:
I stretched an arm within his reach,
And signalled unity.
But with his drip he forced a breach,
And tried to poison me.
The Rambler
© Thomas Hardy
I do not see the hills around,
Nor mark the tints the copses wear;
I do not note the grassy ground
And constellated daisies there.
The Well-Beloved
© Thomas Hardy
I wayed by star and planet shine
Towards the dear one's home
At Kingsbere, there to make her mine
When the next sun upclomb.
The Last Chrysanthemum
© Thomas Hardy
Why should this flower delay so long
To show its tremulous plumes?
Now is the time of plaintive robin-song,
When flowers are in their tombs.
To Life
© Thomas Hardy
O life with the sad seared face,
I weary of seeing thee,
And thy draggled cloak, and thy hobbling pace,
And thy too-forced pleasantry!
The Year's Awakening
© Thomas Hardy
How do you know that the pilgrim track
Along the belting zodiac
Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds
Is traced by now to the Fishes' bounds
Tess's Lament
© Thomas Hardy
I I would that folk forgot me quite,
Forgot me quite!
I would that I could shrink from sight,
And no more see the sun.
The Pity Of It
© Thomas Hardy
Then seemed a Heart crying: "Whosoever they be
At root and bottom of this, who flung this flame
Between kin folk kin tongued even as are we,
Sinister, ugly, lurid, be their fame;
May their familiars grow to shun their name,
And their brood perish everlastingly."
The Dream-Follower
© Thomas Hardy
A dream of mine flew over the mead
To the halls where my old Love reigns;
And it drew me on to follow its lead:
And I stood at her window-panes;
The Caged Thrush Freed and Home Again (Villanelle)
© Thomas Hardy
"Men know but little more than we,
Who count us least of things terrene,
How happy days are made to be!
The Dance At The Phoenix
© Thomas Hardy
To Jenny came a gentle youth
From inland leazes lone;
His love was fresh as apple-blooth
By Parrett, Yeo, or Tone.
Transformations
© Thomas Hardy
Portion of this yew
Is a man my grandsire knew,
Bosomed here at its foot:
This branch may be his wife,
A ruddy human life
Now turned to a green shoot.
The Masked Face
© Thomas Hardy
I found me in a great surging space,
At either end a door,
And I said: "What is this giddying place,
With no firm-fixéd floor,
That I knew not of before?"
"It is Life," said a mask-clad face.
Thoughts Of Phena
© Thomas Hardy
at news of her death Not a line of her writing have I
Not a thread of her hair,
No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
I may picture her there;
The Farm Woman's Winter
© Thomas Hardy
IIf seasons all were summers,
And leaves would never fall,
And hopping casement-comers
Were foodless not at all,
The Tree: An Old Man's Story
© Thomas Hardy
Its roots are bristling in the air
Like some mad Earth-god's spiny hair;
The loud south-wester's swell and yell
Smote it at midnight, and it fell.
Thus ends the tree
Where Some One sat with me.
The Ghost Of The Past
© Thomas Hardy
We two kept house, the Past and I,
The Past and I;
I tended while it hovered nigh,
Leaving me never alone.
The Levelled Churchyard
© Thomas Hardy
"O passenger, pray list and catch
Our sighs and piteous groans,
Half stifled in this jumbled patch
Of wrenched memorial stones!
