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Art thou pale for weariness

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers
As it fell upon a day

As I was walking all alane

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that lay.

A slumber did my spirit seal
As ships, becalmed at eve,
As slow our ship her foamy track
As thro' the land at eve we went
As we rush, as we rush in the train

A sweet disorder in the dress.

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly

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Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones
Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake

Awake, awake, my Lyre

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Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night

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Being your slave, what should I do but tend

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Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy
Blow, blow, thou winter wind

Break, break, break

Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art

Call for the robin redbreast and the wren
Calm was the day, and through the trembling air
Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in arms
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night
Come away, come away, Death

Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height

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Come hither, Evan Cameron

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Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move

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Fair pledges of a fruitful tree.

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing

Fear death?-to feel the fog in my throat
Fear no more the heat o' the sun

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove

Forget not yet the tried intent

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony
From Stirling Castle we had seen
Full fathom five thy father lies

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may
Gem of the crimson-colour'd Even

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Give her but a least excuse to love me

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Go fetch to me a pint o' wine

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Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill
Go, lovely Rose

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Hence, all you vain delights
Hence, loathéd Melancholy
Hence, vain deluding Joys
He that loves a rosy cheek
How delicious is the winning
How do I love thee?

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Let me count the ways
How happy is he born and taught

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How like a winter hath my absence been.
How sleep the Brave who sink to rest
How sweet the answer Echo makes.
How vainly men themselves amaze .

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I do not love thee !-no! I do not love thee

I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way
I dug, beneath the cypress shade

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If thou must love me, let it be for nought

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If thou survive my well-contented day

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If to be absent were to be

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If women could be fair, and yet not fond.

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I have had playmates, I have had companions.

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I heard a thousand blended notes

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I know not that the men of old

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I loved him not; and yet now he is gone

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In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours

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In the deserted moon-blanch'd street

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In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining
In the sweet shire of Cardigan

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I strove with none, for none was worth my strife

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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free
It is not Beauty I demand

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Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Let's contend no more, Love.

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Many a green isle needs must be

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Mary! I want a lyre with other strings.

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My good blade carves the casques of men

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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains.

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My heart is like a singing bird

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My heart leaps up when I behold

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My love in her attire doth shew her wit

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My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
My thoughts hold mortal strife

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My true-love hath my heart, and I have his

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Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died

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Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note

Not, Celia, that I juster am

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white
Now the golden Morn aloft

Now the last day of many days

O blithe new-comer! I have heard

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O Brignall banks are wild and fair .

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O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done

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O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes

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O fair and stately maid, whose eyes

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Of all the girls that are so smart

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Of a' the airts the wind can blaw

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Of Nelson and the North

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O Friend! I know not which way I must look

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Oh! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North.

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O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm .

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O Mistress mine, where are you roaming
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
Old Tubal Cain was a man of might

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O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South.

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O talk not to me of a name great in story

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Others abide our question. Thou art free

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Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd
Out of the night that covers me

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O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
O World! O Life! O Time.

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