Between the dark and the daylight Between the acting of a dreadful thing Birdie, birdie, will you, pet Blackened and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone Blow, blow, thou winter wind Blue crystal vault and elemental fires Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen Brave Schill, by death delivered Break, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud Breathe, trumpets, breathe slow notes Bury the Great Duke Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride But all our praises, why should lords engross But are ye sure the news is true? But fare you weel, auld Nickie-Ben. But for ye speken of such gentilesse But I wol turn againe to Ariadne But souls that of his own good life partake Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin Calm and still light on yon great plain Come on, come on, and where you go Come on, sir, here's the place: stand still Come seeling night Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged Come to Licöo! the sun is riding J. G. PERCIVAL 39 HOLMES 282 BRET HARTE LOWELL 476 MILTON 104 PUNCH. 227 ROBERT SOUTHWELL 191 BRET HARTE 496 MILNES 289 Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn Goe, happy rose, and interwove Go, soul, the body's guest Great Ocean! strongest of Creation's sons Hail to the chief who in triumph advances Happy those early days when I Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings Hath this world without me wrought?' Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay? Hearken in your ear He clasps the crag with hooked hands He is gone is dust He is gone on the mountains. He leaves the earth, and says enough Hence, all you vain delights! Hence, loathed melancholy! Hence, vain deluding joys! Here is the place; right over the hill Here let us live, and spend away our lives Here might I pause and bend in reverence Her eyes the glow-worme lend thee Her fingers shame the ivory keys Her finger was so small the ring Her house is all of echo made He's a rare man YOUNG 180 POLLOK 38 SCOTT 350 SCOTT 450 MRS. HEMANS 51 VAUGHAN 173 SHAKSPEARE 441 SHAKSPEARE. 159 91 492 234 38 TENNYSON J. J. G. WILKINSON I hear thy solemn anthem fall I know a little garden close I made a footing in the wall I made a posie while the day ran by I mind it weel, in early date I'm sitting alone by the fire I must go furnish up Inland, within a hollow vale I stood In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest In the frosty season, when the sun In the golden reign of Charlemagne the king. In the hour of my distress In the summer even In this world, the isle of dreams In vain the common theme my tongue would shun In what torn ship soever I embark In Xanadu did Kubla Khan In yonder grave a Druid lies. I see a dusk and awful figure rise I see before me the gladiator lie I see men's judgments are I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus. I sift the snow on the mountains below I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he. Is there for honest poverty Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child? It don't seem hardly right, John It follows now you are to prove. It happed that I came on a day I think not on my father It is not to be thought of that the flood It little profits that an idle king It's narrow, narrow make your bed It's no in titles or in rank It was fifty years ago It was the season, when through all the land. It was the time when lilies blow It was the winter wild. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind I wandered lonely as a cloud I watched her face, suspecting germs I wish I were where Helen lies I would that thou might always be John Anderson, my jo, John John Brown in Kansas settled like a steadfast Just for a handful of silver he left us Just now I've ta'en a fit of rhyme Kings, queens, lords, ladies, knights, and damsels great Knowing the heart of man is set to be R. B. COFFIN King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill Lady Clara Vere De Vere Lady, there is a hope that all men have TENNYSON 365 CHANNING 153 Lately, alas! I knew a gentle boy Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake. Let the bird of loudest lay Life and thought have gone away Life, I know not what thou art Life may be given in many ways Light-winged smoke! Icarian bird Like a poet hidden Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. Like to the clear in highest sphere. Lithe and listen, gentlemen." Little I ask, my wants are few Little was King Laurin Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day "Lo," quoth he, "Cast up thine eye' Lo! on his far resounding path Look not thou on beauty's charming Lord, when I quit this earthly stage Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round Lo, when the Lord made North and South Macbeth is ripe for shaking Man, thee behooveth oft to have this in mind Merciful Heaven! Merry it is in the good green wood Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more Milton, thou shouldst be living at this hour Mine honesty and I begin to square Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors Motions and means, on land and sea at war Much have I travelled in the realms of gold My gentle Puck, come hither My God, I heard this day My liege, I did deny no prisoners. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead Naked on parents' knees, a new-born child. Needy knife-grinder, whither are you going? No more, no more, Oh! never more on me No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh Now is the time for mirth Now is the winter of our discontent. Now overhead a rainbow bursting through Now ponder well, you parents dear O Brignall Banks are wild and fair O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon O divine star of heaven O draw me, Father, after thee O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea Of all the rides since the birth of time O for my sake do you with fortune chide Oft in the stilly night Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope O heavens, if you do love old men O heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale? Oh, have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem Oh, weel may the boatie row OI have passed a miserable night O joy hast thou a face O keeper of the sacred key O listen, listen, ladies gay Old wine to drink O Lord, in me there lieth nought O messenger, art thou the king, or I? Once we built our fortress where you see O never rudely will I blame his faith' One day, nigh weary of the irksome way 289 COLERIDGE T. MOORE WORDSWORTH BURNS CHAPMAN CHANNING BUTLER Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered CAMPBELL Our boat to the waves go free Our brethren of New England use |