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- ’Tis a dainty shell, ’tis a fragile shell by Arthur Weir
- ’Tis a dull sight by Edward Fitzgerald
- ’Tis a little room, my friend— by George MacDonald
- ’Tis a nameless stone that stands at your head— by Adam Lindsay Gordon
- ’Tis a poor drizzly morning, dark and sad. by George MacDonald
- ’Tis an old deserted homestead by Paul Laurence Dunbar
- ’Tis Anguish grander than Delight by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed by William Shakespeare
- ’Tis customary as we part by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis done!—I saw it in my dreams: by George Gordon Lord Byron
- ’Tis easier to pity those when dead by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track, by John Clare
- ’Tis fine to play by Paul Laurence Dunbar
- ’Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze, by John Keble
- ’Tis good—the looking back on Grief— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis hard to hang a husky lad by Robert Service
- ’Tis hard to say, if greater Want of Skill by Alexander Pope
- ’Tis held that sorrow makes us wise; by Alfred Lord Tennyson
- ’Tis late and cold; stir up the fire; by John Fletcher
- ’Tis little I—could care for Pearls— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis love that blinds my heart and eyes,— by John Hay
- ’Tis midnight. On the globe dead slumber sits, by Henry Kirk White
- ’Tis my first night beneath the Sun by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis Nancy’s birth-day—raise your strains, by Christopher Smart
- ’Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep by Robert Southey
- ’Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee by William Cullen Bryant
- ’Tis not by selfish miser’s greed by Freeman E. Miller
- ’Tis not in the bitterest woes of life by John L. Stoddard
- ’Tis not in youth, when life is new, when but to live is sweet, by George W. Sands
- ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis not the beam of her bright blue eye, by Joseph Rodman Drake
- ’Tis not the swaying frame we miss, by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis not the violent hands alone that bring by George MacDonald
- ’Tis not too late to build our young land right, by Vachel Lindsay
- ’Tis not with gilded sabres by William Cullen Bryant
- ’Tis One by One—the Father counts— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis Opposites—entice— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis said that when by Edgar Allan Poe
- ’Tis said, that jealous of a name by Matilda Betham
- ’Tis said, when Schiller’s death drew nigh, by William Cullen Bryant
- ’Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis so much joy! ’Tis so much joy! by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis spring; come out to ramble by A. E. Housman
- ’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast Thou by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis sweet, in the green Spring, by William Cullen Bryant
- ’Tis the feast of corn, ’tis the feast of bread, by Paul Verlaine
- ’Tis the middle of night by the castle clock by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- ’Tis the middle watch of a summer’s night— by Joseph Rodman Drake
- ’Tis the midnight hour; I heard by George MacDonald
- ’Tis the moon of the sere, falling leaves. by Hanford Lennox Gordon
- ’Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare by Lewis Carroll
- ’Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes, by John Donne
- ’Tis time this heart should be unmoved, by George Gordon Lord Byron
- ’Tis time to sleep, my little boy: by George MacDonald
- ’Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town by A. E. Housman
- ’Tis true my garments threadbare are, by Robert Service
- ’Tis true—They shut me in the Cold— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis true, ’tis day; what though it be? by John Donne
- ’Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand by Thomas Carew
- ’Tis true, of old the unchanging sun by John Keble
- ’Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray; by George MacDonald
- ’Tis well with words, oh masters, ye have sought, by Archibald Lampman
- ’Tis well; ’tis something; we may stand by Alfred Lord Tennyson
- ’Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; by Eugene Field
- ’Twas a day of faith and flowers, by Andrew Lang
- ’Twas a fearful night—the tempest raved by Frances E. W. Harper
- ’Twas a long Parting—but the time by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas a year ago and the moon was bright by Robert Service
- ’Twas at early morning, by James Weldon Johnson
- ’Twas at the royal feast for Persia won by John Dryden
- ’Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead by Matthew Arnold
- ’Twas awkward, but it fitted me— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves by Lewis Carroll
- ’Twas comfort in her Dying Room by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas Crisis—All the length had passed— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas drawing near the holiday, by Hattie Howard
- ’Twas fighting for his Life he was— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas here my summer paused by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas in a pub in Battersea by Robert Service
- ’Twas in a pub just off the Strand by Robert Service
- ’Twas in a wee bit but-an’-ben by David Rorie
- ’Twas in the bleary middle of the hard-boiled Arctic night, by Robert Service
- ’Twas in the Crescent City not long ago befell by Eugene Field
- ’Twas in the grave-yard’s gruesome gloom by Robert Service
- ’Twas in the summer’s sweet perfume, by Freeman E. Miller
- ’Twas just this time, last year, I died. by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas later when the summer went by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch, by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas Love—not me— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land, by Phillis Wheatley
- ’Twas my one Glory— by Emily Dickinson
- ’Twas noon in Amsterdam, the day was clear, by Amy Lowell
- ’Twas noontide of summer, by Edgar Allan Poe
- ’Twas not rare versatility, by Hattie Howard
- ’Twas now the hour when Night had driven by George Gordon Lord Byron
- ’Twas now the noon of night, and all was still, by George Gordon Lord Byron
- ’Twas on a day of cold and sleet, by Hattie Howard
- ’Twas on a lofty vase’s side, by Thomas Gray
