Poems begining by T
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The Witch in the Glass
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
"My mother says I must not pass Too near that glass;She is afraid that I will seeA little witch that looks like me,With a red, red mouth, to whisper lowThe very thing I should not know!"
Transfigured
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
Almost afraid they led her in: (A dwarf more piteous none could find);Withered as some weird leaf, and thin, The woman was .- and wan and blind.
The Sorrows of Charlotte
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
The Sorrows of Werther, that is the Book, Little girl of mine
The Palace-Burner
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
She has been burning palaces. ."To see The sparks look pretty in the wind?." Well, yes .-And something more. But women brave as she Leave much for cowards such as I to guess.
The House below the Hill
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
You ask me of the farthest star, Whither your thought can climb at will,Forever-questioning child of mine
The Coming of Eve
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
God gave the world to Man in the Beginning. Alone in Eden there and lord of allHe mused: "There may be one thing worth the winning. (All else is mine.) When will that Apple fall?
The Christening
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
In vain we broider cap and cloak, and fold The long robe, white and rare;In vain we serve on dishes of red gold, Perhaps, the rich man's fare;In vain we bid the fabled folk who bring All gifts the world holds sweet:This one, forsooth, shall give the child to sing; To move like music this shall charm its feet; This help the cheek to blush, the heart to beat
The Black Princess
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
I knew a Princess: she was old, Crisp-haired, flat-featured, with a lookSuch as no dainty pen of gold Would write of in a fairy book.
The Motor-Lorries
© Phillimore John Swinnerton
They're coming -- twenty or thirty, an outspun throng Of grey machines, none hard on the other's heels
The Splendid Shilling
© Philips John
-- -- Sing, Heavenly Muse,Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime,A Shilling, Breeches, and Chimera's Dire.
The Vow
© Peacock Molly
Every time you suffer disappointmentit makes me fall in love with you againbecause I almost cannot bear to seethe dumbstruck purity in your face benton figuring how or why you couldn't seeit coming
The Spell
© Peacock Molly
The job in certain lives has been to find Away to live with feeling -- for just to Bthe selves they are requires them to Cthings they were forbidden to
The Cliffs of Mistake
© Peacock Molly
To know you're making a mistake asyou make it, yet not be able to stop,is to step off a cliff, expecting to scramblebackward and up through the air to standon the outcrop you stepped from,even though it can't unhappen as youbackpeddle wildly with the second step,looking far, far below onto the moraineof pain you anticipate later, which is nowonly the shock of recognizing the resultthere's no leaping back from
To the Hawthorn-tree
© John Payne
Hail, bright blossoming hawthorn-tree, This fair leaFilling thus with leaves a-throng!Foot and crownal, stem and bough, Clad art thouWith a wild vine's tendrils long.
The Smoker
© John Payne
Upon a faggot set, with pipe in hand and pot.Loins 'gainst a chimney-back disconsolately leant,Soul in revolt and eyes to earth in sadness bent,I chew the cruel cud of my inhuman lot.
The Rose
© John Payne
Let us go see, dear, if the rose,Which but this morning did uncloseHer crown of crimson in the sun,Have not this eventide laid downThe glories of her purple gownAnd colour peered (save thine) of none.
