INDEX OF FIRST LINES A BLIND man is a poor man, and blind | An old man in a lodge within a park, a poor man is, 810. A fleet with flags arrayed, 440. After so long an absence, 384. A gentle boy, with soft and silken A handful of red sand, from the hot Ah, how short are the days! How soon Ah, Love, 53. Ah me! ah me! when thinking of the Ah! thou moon that shinest, 52. A little bird in the air, 295. All the old gods are dead, 289. 410. Arise, O righteous Lord, 682. As a fond mother, when the day is As a pale phantom with a lamp, 458. As one who long hath fled with panting As one who, walking in the twilight As the birds come in the Spring, 454. As unto the bow the cord is, 168. At Atri, in Abruzzo, a small town, 315. At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, 324. Am I a king, that I should call my A vision as of crowded city streets, A mill-stone and the human heart are A mist was driving down the British Among the many lives that I have An angel with a radiant face, 826. And King Olaf heard the cry, 280. 411. Awake! arise! the hour is late, 467. A wind came up out of the sea, 253. Barabbas is my name, 520. Baron Castine of St. Castine, 335. And thou, O River of To-morrow, flow- Beautiful valley! through whose ver And when the kings were in the field, Annie of Tharaw, my true love of old, dant meads, 423. Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, Behold! a giant am I, 453. Bell! thou soundest merrily, 804. 23. Between the dark and the daylight, Filled is Life's goblet to the brim, But yesterday these few and hoary Four by the clock! and yet not day, By his evening fire the artist, 134. Can it be the sun descending, 175. Clear fount of light! my native land 461. Four limpid lakes, -four Naiades, 457. Full of wrath was Hiawatha, 192. Gaddi mi fece: il Ponte Vecchio sono, Garlands upon his grave, 422. Come from thy caverns dark and deep, Gentle Spring! in sunshine clad, 816. 396. Come, my beloved, 476. Come, O Death, so silent flying, 786. Come to me, O ye children, 254. Dark is the morning with mist; in the Don Nuno, Count of Lara, 782. Dost thou see on the rampart's height, Dowered with all celestial gifts, 387. Downward through the evening twi- Each heart has its haunted chamber, Even as the Blessed, at the final sum- Evermore a sound shall be, 393. Far and wide among the nations, 197. Gently swaying to and fro, 392. Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of Glove of black in white hand bare, God sent his messenger the rain, 606. Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled, Half of my life is gone, and I have let, Hark, hark, 815. Haste and hide thee, 393. Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 804 He is dead, the beautiful youth, 378. High on their turreted cliffs, 295. How beautiful it was, that one bright Intelligence and courtesy not always How cold are thy baths, Apollo! 448. are combined, 810. In that building long and low, 248. How many lives, made beautiful and In the convent of Drontheim, 300. How much of my young heart, O Spain, How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves, 244. How strange the sculptures that adorn How the Titan, the defiant, 390. I am poor and old and blind, 427. In the heroic days when Ferdinand, In the long, sleepless watches of the In the market-place of Bruges stands In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth In the valley of the Pegnitz, where I enter, and I see thee in the gloom, In the valley of the Vire, 245. If perhaps these rhymes of mine should If thou art sleeping, maiden, 65, 837. I hear along our street, 825. I heard a brooklet gushing, 803. I heard a voice, that cried, 136. I heard the bells on Christmas Day, I heard the trailing garments of the I know a maiden fair to see, 803. I lay upon the headland-height, and In the village churchyard she lies, 241. Into the open air John Alden, per- Into the Silent Land, 804. I pace the sounding sea-beach and be- I said unto myself, if I were dead, 413. I saw the long line of the vacant shore, I see amid the fields of Ayr, 449. I shot an arrow into the air, 86. I leave you, ye cold mountain chains, Is it so far from thee, 446. I lift mine eyes, and all the windows I sleep, but my heart awaketh, 474. I stand again on the familiar shore, I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade, 419. In Attica thy birthplace should have I stood on the bridge at midnight, 79. In broad daylight, and at noon, 243. In St. Luke's Gospel we are told, 451. I stood upon the hills, when heaven's Italy! Italy! thou who 'rt doomed to I thought this Pen would arise, 448. I trust that somewhere and somehow, Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all these It was Einar Tamberskelver, 299. It was Sir Christopher Gardiner, 369. It was the season, when through all the Janus am I; oldest of potentates, 455. Just in the gray of the dawn, as the creeds and doctrines three, 810. Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, Man-like is it to fall into sin, 810. Month after month passed away, and Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, Much it behoveth, 814. My beloved is white and ruddy, 475. King Christian stood by the lofty mast, My soul its secret has, my life too has King Ring with his queen to the ban- My undefiled is but one, 475. quet did fare, 788. King Solomon, before his palace gate, Neglected record of a mind neglected, Leafless are the trees; their purple No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks, 423. Let him who will, by force or fraud in- Not fashioned out of gold, like Hera's Let nothing disturb thee, 786. Like two cathedral towers these stately Listen, my children, and you shall Little sweet wine of Jurançon, 830. Lo in the painted oriel of the West, Longing already to search in and Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing Loud he sang the psalm of David, 25. Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful throne, 386. Nothing that is shall perish utterly, Nothing the greatest artist can con Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, 213. Now from all King Olaf's farms, 283. O Cæsar, we who are about to die, O curfew of the setting sun! O bells O'er all the hill-tops, 811. O faithful, indefatigable tides, 469. |