Poems begining by T

/ page 5 of 916 /

Order by :

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
. . .
916

Perch'd on a lofty oak, Sir Raven held a lunch of cheese; Sir Fox, who smelt it in the breeze, Thus to the holder spoke:-- Ha! how do you do, Sir Raven? Well, your coat, sir, is a brave one! So black and glossy, on my word, sir,With voice to match, you were a bird, sir,Well fit to be the Phœnix of these days

The Lark and Her Young Ones with the Owner of a Field

© Wright Elizur

"Depend upon yourself alone," Has to a common proverb grown

The Frog that wishes to be as Big as the Ox

© Wright Elizur

The tenant of a bog, An envious little frog, Not bigger than an egg, A stately bullock spies, And, smitten with his size, Attempts to be as big

The Animals Sick of the Plague

© Wright Elizur

The sorest ill that Heaven hath Sent on this lower world in wrath,-- The plague (to call it by its name,) One single day of which Would Pluto's ferryman enrich,-- Waged war on beasts, both wild and tame

To a Sicilian Boy

© Wratislaw Theodore William Graf

Love, I adore the contours of thy shape,Thine exquisite breasts and arms adorable;The wonders of thy heavenly throat compelSuch fire of love as even my dreams escape:I love thee as the sea-foam loves the cape,Or as the shore the sea's enchanting spell:In sweets the blossoms of thy mouth excelThe tenderest bloom of peach or purple grape

To a Highland Girl

© William Wordsworth

Sweet Highland Girl, a very showerOf beauty is thy earthly dower!Twice seven consenting years have shedTheir utmost bounty on thy head:And these grey rocks; that household lawn;Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn;This fall of water that doth makeA murmur near the silent lake;This little bay; a quiet roadThat holds in shelter thy Abode--In truth together do ye seemLike something fashioned in a dream;Such Forms as from their covert peepWhen earthly cares are laid asleep!But, O fair Creature! in the lightOf common day, so heavenly bright,I bless Thee, Vision as thou art,I bless thee with a human heart;God shield thee to thy latest years!Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers;And yet my eyes are filled with tears

Three Years She Grew

© William Wordsworth

Three years she grew in sun and shower,Then Nature said, "A lovelier flowerOn earth was never sown;This Child I to myself will take;She shall be mine, and I will makeA Lady of my own.

The Prelude: Book 2: School-time (Continued)

© William Wordsworth

Thus far, O Friend! have we, though leaving muchUnvisited, endeavour'd to retraceMy life through its first years, and measured backThe way I travell'd when I first beganTo love the woods and fields; the passion yetWas in its birth, sustain'd, as might befal,By nourishment that came unsought, for still,From week to week, from month to month, we liv'dA round of tumult: duly were our gamesProlong'd in summer till the day-light fail'd;No chair remain'd before the doors, the benchAnd threshold steps were empty; fast asleepThe Labourer, and the old Man who had sate,A later lingerer, yet the revelryContinued, and the loud uproar: at last,When all the ground was dark, and the huge cloudsWere edged with twinkling stars, to bed we went,With weary joints, and with a beating mind

The Prelude: Book 1: Childhood and School-time

© William Wordsworth

--Was it for thisThat one, the fairest of all Rivers, lov'dTo blend his murmurs with my Nurse's song,And from his alder shades and rocky falls,And from his fords and shallows, sent a voiceThat flow'd along my dreams? For this, didst Thou,O Derwent! travelling over the green PlainsNear my 'sweet Birthplace', didst thou, beauteous StreamMake ceaseless music through the night and dayWhich with its steady cadence, temperingOur human waywardness, compos'd my thoughtsTo more than infant softness, giving me,Among the fretful dwellings of mankind,A knowledge, a dim earnest, of the calmThat Nature breathes among the hills and groves

The French Revolution as It Appeared to Enthusiasts at Its Commencement

© William Wordsworth

Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!For mighty were the auxiliars which then stoodUpon our side, we who were strong in love!Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,But to be young was very heaven!--Oh! times,In which the meagre, stale, forbidding waysOf custom, law, and statute, took at onceThe attraction of a country in romance!When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights,When most intent on making of herselfA prime Enchantress--to assist the workWhich then was going forward in her name!Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth,The beauty wore of promise, that which sets(As at some moment might not be unfeltAmong the bowers of paradise itself )The budding rose above the rose full blown

To a Vagabond

© Woodrow Constance

But half of me is woman grown; The other half is child

The Suburbs

© Humbert Wolfe

Because they are so many and the same,The little houses row on weary row;Because they are so loveless and so lameIt were a bitter thing to tell them so

The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna

© Charles Wolfe

Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried;Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

Ten Little Injuns

© Winner Septimus

Ten little Injuns standin' in a line,One toddled home and then there were nine;Nine little Injuns swingin' on a gate,One tumbled off and then there were eight.

The Lady in the White Dress, Whom I Helped Into the Omnibus

I know her not! Her hand has been in mine,And the warm pressure of her taper armHas thrill'd upon my fingers, and the hemOf her white dress has lain upon my feet,Till my hush'd pulse, by the caressing folds,Was kindled to a fever! I, to her,Am but the undistinguishable leafBlown by upon the breeze -- yet I have sat,And in the blue depths of her stainless eyes,(Close as a lover in his hour of bliss,And steadfastly as look the twin stars downInto unfathomable wells,) have gazed!And I have felt from out its gate of pearlHer warm breath on my cheek, and while she satDreaming away the moments, I have triedTo count the long dark lashes in the fringeOf her bewildering eyes! The kerchief sweetThat enviably visits her red lipHas slumber'd, while she held it, on my knee, --And her small foot has crept between mine own --And yet, she knows me not! Now, thanks to heavenFor blessings chainless in the rich man's keeping --Wealth that the miser cannot hide away!Buy, if they will, the invaluable flower --They cannot store its fragrance from the breeze!Wear, if they will, the costliest gem of Ind --It pours its light on every passing eye!And he who on this beauty sets his name --Who dreams, perhaps, that for his use aloneSuch loveliness was first of angels born --Tell him, oh whisperer at his dreaming ear,That I too, in her beauty, sun my eye,And, unrebuked, may worship her in song --Tell him that heaven, along our darkling way,Hath set bright lamps with loveliness alight --And all may in their guiding beams rejoice;But he -- as 'twere a watcher by a lamp --Guards but this bright one's shining

Triolet for you

© Williams Ian

There is no synonym for you

The Little White Hearse

Somebody's baby was buried to-day -- The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,And a shadow seemed drawn o'er the sun's golden track

To her Sister Mistress A. B.

Because I to my brethern wrote and to my sisters two:Good sister Anne, you this might wote, if so I should not doTo you, or ere I parted hence,You vainly had bestowed expence.