Poems begining by T
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The Needle
© Ezra Pound
Mock not the flood of stars, the thing's to be.
O Love, come now, this land turns evil slowly.
The waves bore in, soon they bear away.
The Encounter
© Ezra Pound
All the while they were talking the new morality
Her eyes explored me.
And when I rose to go
Her fingers were like the tissue
Of a Japanese paper napkin.
The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter
© Ezra Pound
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never
looked back.
The Garden
© Ezra Pound
Like a skien of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anaemia.
The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume 1: 1931-1934
© Anais Nin
"Am I, at bottom, that fervent little Spanish Catholic child who chastised herself for loving toys, who forbade herself the enjoyment of sweet foods, who practiced silence, who humiliated her pride, who adored symbols, statues, burning candles, incense, the caress of nuns, organ music, for whom Communion was a great event? I was so exalted by the idea of eating Jesus's flesh and drinking His blood that I couldn't swallow the host well, and I dreaded harming the it
The Open Sea
© Dorothea Mackellar
From my window I can see,
Where the sandhills dip,
One far glimpse of open sea.
Just a slender slip
The New Tenants
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
And there were the new tenants who had come,
By doors that were left open unawares,
Into his house, and were so much at home
There now that he would hardly have to guess,
By the slow guile of their vindictiveness,
What ultimate insolence would soon be theirs.
The Return of Morgan and Fingal
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
And there we were together again
Together again, we three:
Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all,
They had come for the night with me.
Tasker Norcross
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Ferguson,
Who talked himself at last out of the world
He censured, and is therefore silent now,
Agreed indifferently: My friends are dead
Or most of them.
The Three Taverns
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
When the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as Appii Forum, and The Three Taverns.(Acts xxviii, 15)
Herodion, Apelles, Amplias,
And Andronicus? Is it you I see
At last? And is it you now that are gazing
Two Octaves
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
INot by the grief that stuns and overwhelms
All outward recognition of revealed
And righteous omnipresence are the days
Of most of us affrighted and diseased,
The Book of Annandale
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
IPartly to think, more to be left alone,
George Annandale said something to his friends
A word or two, brusque, but yet smoothed enough
To suit their funeral gazeand went upstairs;
The Tavern
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
The Tavern has a story, but no man
Can tell us what it is. We only know
That once long after midnight, years ago,
A stranger galloped up from Tilbury Town,
Who brushed, and scared, and all but overran
That skirt-crazed reprobate, John Evereldown.
The Growth of Lorraine
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
You tell me not to say these things, I know,
But I should never try to be content:
Ive gone too far; the life would be too slow.
Some could have done itsome girls have the stuff;
But I cant do it: I dont know enough.
Im going to the devil.And she went.
The White Lights
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
When in from Delos came the gold
That held the dream of Pericles,
When first Athenian ears were told
The tumult of Euripides,
Two Sonnets
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
No, I have not your backward faith to shrink
Lone-faring from the doorway of Gods home
To find Him in the names of buried men;
Nor your ingenious recreance to think
We cherish, in the life that is to come,
The scattered features of dead friends again.
The Voice of Age
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
She'd look upon us, if she could,
As hard as Rhadamanthus would;
Yet one may see,who sees her face,
Her crown of silver and of lace,
The Pity of the Leaves
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
And then there were the leaves that plagued him so!
The brown, thin leaves that on the stones outside
Skipped with a freezing whisper. Now and then
They stopped, and stayed therejust to let him know
How dead they were; but if the old man cried,
They fluttered off like withered souls of men.
Three Quatrains
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
As long as Fame's imperious music rings
Will poets mock it with crowned words august;
And haggard men will clamber to be kings
As long as Glory weighs itself in dust.
The Sage
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
There at his touch there was a treasure chest,
And in it was a gleam, but not of gold;
And on it, like a flame, these words were scrolled:
I keep the mintage of Eternity.
Who comes to take one coin may take the rest,
And all may comebut not without the key.
