if those, who live in shepherd's bower, . If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, If, when you labor all the day, If you love me, tell me not; I gave my little girl back to the daisies, I gazed upon the glorious sky, I give thee treasures hour by hour, I grew assured before I asked, I haf von funny leedle poy, I have a little kinsman,. I have been sitting alone, I have had playmates, I have had companions, I hear it often in the dark, I know a bright and beauteous May, I know a girl with teeth of pearl, I know not how it is; I know that all beneath the moon decays I lie in the summer meadows, I like a church; I like a cowl; — "I'll take the orchard path," she said, I long have been puzzled to guess, I long have had a quarrel set with Time, I lost my treasures one by one,. I loved thee long and dearly,. I love to look on a scene like this, I'm not a chicken! I have seen, I mourn no more my vanished years, I must lament, Nature commands it so: I'm wearin' awa', Jean, In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, In a valley, centuries ago,.. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In eldest time, ere mortals writ or read, I never cast a flower away, In every village marked with little spire, P. P. Cooke, 151 Willis, 651 Holmes, 733 Lord Houghton, 286 Whittier, 641 Quarles, 451 394 Trowbridge, 608 In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, Tennyson, 580 In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, Emerson, 214 T. B. Aldrich, 10 In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed,. Scott, 478 In the balmy April weather, In purple robes old Sliavnamon, In schools of wisdom all the day was spent: In silent ease, at least in silence, dine, Interred beneath this marble stone, In the dewy depths of the grave-yard, In Thee, O blessed God, I hope, In the fireshine at the twilight,. In the garden of death, where the singers, In the hour of my distress, In these deep solitudes and awful cells, In the spring, perverse and sour, In the stormy waters of Galloway, In the warm valley, rich in summer's wealth, Into a ward of the whitewashed walls, In yonder grave a Druid lies, I once was a jolly young beau, I only polished am in mine own dust I prithee send me back my heart, I remember, I remember, said, if I might go back again, I sat in a darkened chamber,. I saw a child, once, that had lost its way, . I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, I saw the long line of the vacant shore, I saw two clouds at morning, I saw two maids at the kirk, I say, whatever you maintain, I see the ancient master pale and worn, I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau, I shall not see thee. Dare I say, I sit on the lonely headland, Is it not possible that all the love,. I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he Is there, for honest poverty, Is this a fast-to keep I stopped to read the milestone here, It is the Soul that sees; the outward eyes, It must be so- Plato, thou reason'st well! It's very hard! - and so it is, It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, It was an old, distorted face, It was a summer evening, . It was many and many a year ago, It was not in the winter, It was not meant, It was the winter wild, I've drunk good wine, I've heard the lilting at our ewe-milking, I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I wait, I waked from slumber at the dead of night, I wandered by the brookside, I wandered lonely as a cloud, I was a young fair tree; I will not love! These sounds have often, I will paint her as I see her; . I won a noble fame ; I wonder, child, if, when you cry, . I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, I wonder what day of the week I would not enter on my list of friends, Jerusalem the Golden !. John Anderson, my jo, John, H. W. Longfellow,. 343 Brainard, 52 Stoddard, 540 M. Prior, 774 Landon, 327 Cowper,. 716 Tennyson, 575 B. Taylor,. 564 Brackett, 52 R. Browning, 70 Burns, 82 Herrick,. 267 J. J. Piatt, 418 435 P. Cary, 127 Wordsworth, 675 Lady Clara Vere de Vere,. Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth, Lady, when first the message came to me, Lars Porsena of Clusium, Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chili Late or early, home returning, Launch thy bark, mariner! Laura, my darling, the roses have blushed, Leaning my bosom on a pointed thorn, Leaves have their time to fall, Let me move slowly through the street, Let thy gold be cast in the furnace, Let winter come! let polar spirits sweep, Life answers, "No! If ended here be life," Life! I know not what thou art, Life's mystery, deep, restless as the ocean, Life will be gone ere I have lived; Light after darkness, Like a lady's ringlets brown,. Like morning blooms that meet the sun, Little inmate, full of mirth, Lo, from the city's heat and dust,. Lo! here a little volume, but large book, Long waited for, the lingering sun arose ; Look, when a painter would surpass the life, Lord, living here are we Lord, many times I am aweary quite, Lord, what a busy, restless thing,. Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round, Lo! that small office! there th' incautious guest, Love, dearest lady, such as I would speak, Love is too great a happiness, Lovely, lasting peace of mind! Love me if I live! . Love that hath us in the net, Hood, Tennyson, Byron, Allen, 16 E. Young, 683 Rogers, 461 Crabbe, 165 Byron, 99 J. C. R. Dorr, 193 Cowley,. 156 Mine to the core of the heart, my beauty! Minutely trace man's life; year after year, Misfortune, I am young-my chin is bare,' Martial, the things that do attain, Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; Howe, Month which the warring ancients strangely styled,. Most perfect attribute of love, that knows, Mother of tortures! persecuting Zeal, Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, Muster thy wit, and talk of whatsoever, My critic Hammond flatters prettily, My daughter! with thy name this song begun, My fairest child, I have no song to give you, My friendly fire, thou blazest clear and bright,. My grief or mirth,. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains, My liege, your anger can recall your trust, My little child, so sweet a voice might wake, My little maiden of four years old- Mynheer, blease helb a boor oldt man, Myself I force some narrowest passage through, My soul, there is a country, My soul to-day, Mysterious Night! when our first parents knew, My uncle Philip, hale old man, My wind has turned to bitter north, My window that looks down the west, Nae star was glintin' out aboon, Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring, Nay, soul, though near to dying, do not this! Nearer, my God, to thee, Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, Never any more, New being is from being ceased; No blank, no trifle, Nature made, or meant, No coward soul is mine, No; I shall pass into the Morning Land, No man e'er found a happy life by chance; Noon, and the northwest sweeps the empty road, Southwell, E. B. Browning, Byron, E. Young, Earl of Surrey, 551 J. G. Whittier, Mackay, 362 Brownell, 59 Higginson, 269 Saxton, 852 H. K. White, 634 289 Craik, 171 Crabbe, 168 H. K. White, 636 Jackson, 831 Dobson, 722 Beaumont, 37 Preston,. 434 Butts, 89 Thomson, 595 Tennyson, 585 Keats, 314 Shelley,. 492 Lussell, 851 Lowell, Kingsley, 321 R. Southey, 522 A. A. Procter, 440 A. T. De Vere, 184 Keats, 312 Motherwell, 391 E. B. Lytton, 839 R. H. Wilde, 649 S. M. B. Piatt, 421 R. B. Lytton, 840 Whitney, 638 Dyer, 819 C. F. Adams, 686 Landor,. 328 Trench,. 605 Byron, 95 Vaughan, 623 Read, 456 B. White, 634 Stoddard, 780 Clough, 131 Whitney, 637 No song of a soldier riding down, Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, Not made by worth, nor marred by flaw, Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Now the third and fatal conflict for the Persian throne, O fair midspring, besung so oft and oft, Of all the woodland flowers of earlier spring, Of mortal glory O soon darkened ray! Of other men I know no jealousy, Often I have heard it said, Often the painful present is comforted, Oft have I walked these woodland paths, Oft may the spirits of the dead descend, O gift of God! O perfect day; O grandly flowing River! O God! if this indeed be all, Oh, beautiful green grass! Earth-covering fair Oh, ever skilled to wear the form we love, Oh, glad am I that I was born! Oh, grief that wring'st mine eyes with tears," Oh, grievous folly! to heap up estate, 232 8 . 443 701 448 660 Cranch, 719 Buchanan,. 807 Hopkins, 829 Wordsworth, 676 T. B. Aldrich, 12 Prentice, 847 S. H. Palfrey, 847 S. T. Coleridge,. 140 Story, 543 W. Morris, 390 Preston, 435 Symonds, 560 E. D. Proctor, 447 E. B. Browning, 60 Hayne, 257 Drummond, 198 T. Campbell, 114 Gilder, 233 |