Temptation
Thanksgiving Poem, A
Then and Now
Theology
Thou Art My Lute
Till The Wind Gets Right
Time To Tinker 'Roun'!
To a Captious Critic
To A Dead Friend
To A Lady Playing The Harp
To A Violet Found on All Saint's
To An Ingrate
To Dan
To Dr. James Newton Matthews
To E. H. K.
To Her
To J. Q.
To Louise
To Miss Mary Britton
To Pfrimmer
To The Eastern Shore
To the Memory of Mary Young
To the Miami
To The Road
To the South
Trouble In De Kitchen
Tryst, The
Turning Of The Babies In The Bed, The
Twell De Night Is Pas'
Twilight
Two Little Boots
Two Songs
This poem must be done to-day;
Then, I'll e'en to it.
I must not dream my time away,--
I'm sure to rue it.
The day is rather bright, I know
The Muse will pardon
My half-defection, if I go
Into the garden.
It must be better working there,--
I'm sure it's sweeter:
And something in the balmy air
May clear my metre.
[In the Garden.]
Ah this is noble, what a sky!
What breezes blowing!
The very clouds, I know not why,
Call one to rowing.
The stream will be a paradise
To-day, I'll warrant.
I know the tide that's on the rise
Will seem a torrent;
I know just how the leafy boughs
Are all a-quiver;
I know how many skiffs and scows
Are on the river.
I think I'll just go out a while
Before I write it:
When Nature shows us such a smile,
We should n't slight it.
For Nature always makes desire
By giving pleasure;
And so 't will help me put more fire
Into my measure.
[On the River.]
The river's fine, I'm glad I came,
That poem's teasing;
But health is better by far than fame,
Though cheques are pleasing.
I don't know what I did it for,--
This air's a poppy.
I'm sorry for my editor,--
He'll get no copy!
