« ПретходнаНастави »
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
Absence, hear thou my protestation
And is this-Yarrow?-This the Stream
And thou art dead, as young and fair
And wilt thou leave me thus
Ariel to Miranda :-Take
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
A slumber did my spirit seal.
As slow our ship her foamy track
A sweet disorder in the dress
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears
Awake, awake, my Lyre
A weary lot is thine, fair maid
A wet sheet and a flowing sea
A widow bird sate mourning for her Love
Bards of Passion and of Mirth
Beauty sat bathing by a spring.
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Best and Brightest, come away.
Bid me to live, and I will live
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy.
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren
Calm was the day, and through the trembling air
Come live with me and be my Love
Cupid and my Campaspe play'd
Daughter of Jove, relentless power
Daughter to that good earl, once President
Earl March look'd on his dying child
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
Fear no more the heat o' the sun
For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may.
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit
Happy the man, whose wish and care
I am monarch of all I survey
I arise from dreams of Thee
I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden.
If Thou survive my well-contented day.
If women could be fair, and yet not fond
I have had playmates, I have had companions
I heard a thousand blended notes
I met a traveller from an antique land
I'm wearing awa', Jean.
In a drear-nighted December
In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining
In the sweet shire of Cardigan
I remember, I remember.
I saw where in the shroud did lurk
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free.
It is not Beauty I demand
It is not growing like a tree
I travell❜d among unknown men
It was a lover and his lass
It was a summer evening.
I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking.
I wander'd lonely as a cloud.
was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile I wish I were where Helen lies.
John Anderson my jo, John .
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son
Life of Life! Thy lips enkindle.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore.
Like to the clear in highest sphere
Many a green isle needs must be
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour
Mine be a cot beside the hill.
Mortality, behold and fear
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes.
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold.
My days among the Dead are past.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My heart leaps up when I behold
My Love in her attire doth shew her wit
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
29 212 79
Now the golden Morn aloft
O blithe new-comer! I have heard.
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
Of Nelson and the North
O Friend! I know not which way I must look
O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm
O listen, listen, ladies gay
O lovers' eyes are sharp to see
O Mary, at thy window be
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head.
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
On a day, alack the day
On a Poet's lips I slept
Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee
One more Unfortunate
O never say that I was false of heart
On Linden, when the sun was low.
O say what is that thing call'd Light
O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom
O talk not to me of a name great in story
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd.
O waly waly up the bank
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being.
Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu.
Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair.
Rarely, rarely, comest thou .
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.
Shall I, wasting in despair
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
She walks in beauty, like the night
1 199 37
She was a phantom of delight
Souls of Poets dead and gone
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king
Take O take those lips away
Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
Tell me where is Fancy bred.
The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King
The merchant, to secure his treasure
The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade
There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
The sun is warm, the sky is clear
The sun upon the lake is low
The twentieth year is well nigh past
The World is too much with us: late and soon
Three years she grew in sun and shower
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
Toll for the Brave
To me, fair Friend, you never can be old
"Twas at the royal feast for Persia won "Twas on a lofty vase's side
Two Voices are there, one of the Sea
9 102 110