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Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Give me my scallop's shell of quiet
God of science and of light
Goe, happy rose, and interwove
Go, soul, the body's guest
Grandmother's mother; her age I guess
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?
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 yon vain delights!
Hence, loathed melancholy!
Here is the place; right over the hill
Here let us live, and spend away our lives
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
He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn
He that loves a rosy cheek
He works in rings, in magic rings of eliance
Hope smiled when your nativity was cast
How changed is here each place man makes or fills!
How many a time have I
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
How oft when thou my music, music play'st
How soon hath time, the subtle thief of youth
How they go by, those strange and dreamlike men!
How young and fresh am I to-night!
I am holy while I stand
I called on dreams and visions to disclose
I came to a laund of white and green.
F. H. HEDGE
SIR W. RALEIGH.
SIR W. RALEIGH
O. W. HOLMES
I challenge not the oracle
I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn. If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song
If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep.
If men be worlds, there is in every one
If this great world of joy and pain
If thou be one whose heart the holy forms
I have, thou gallant Trojan
I have woven shrouds of air
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 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 le
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 happen 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
N. P. WILLIS
King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill
LOCKHART'S SPANISH BAL
Lady Clara Vere De Vere
Lady, there is a hope that all men have
"Lo," quoth he, "Cast up thine eye'
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
Lo, where she comes along with portly pace
Macbeth is ripe for shaking
Man, thee behooveth oft to have this in mind'
Men have done brave deeds
Merry it is in the good green wood
Methought I heard a voice say, "Sleep no more".
Methinks it is good to be here
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
Mourn, hills and groves of Attica
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 mind to me a kingdom is.
My mistress' 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 ponder well, you parents dear
O Brignall Banks are wild and fair
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison!
O divine star of heaven
O draw me, Father, after thee
O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea O'er western tides the fair spring day
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
Of all the rides since the birth of time
Of Nelson and the North
O for my sake do you with fortune chide
Oft in the stilly night
Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope
Oft when returning with her loaded bill
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 1?.
O my luve's like a red, red rose.
Once we built our fortress where you see
O never rudely will I blame his faith
One day, nigh weary of the irksome way
Or if the soul of proper kind.
Orpheus with his lute made trees
O Sacred Providence, who from end to end
O than the fairest day thrice fairer night
O that we now had here
O the days are gone when beauty bright
O then what soul was his, when, on the tops
O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you
O thou goddess
O thou who in the heavens dost dwell
O thou that swing'st upon the waving ear O! 'tis wondrous much
Our boat to the waves go free
Our brethren of New England use
Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered CAMPBELL
Our revels now are ended
Praise to God, immortal praise.
Queen Bonduca, I do not grieve your fortune
– Oh, my
Sweep ho! Sweep ho!
Sweet country life, to such unknown
Reason thus with life
Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps.
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down
Round my own pretty rose.
Royal Egypt! Empress
Rudolph, professor of the headsman's trade
Ruin seize thee, ruthless king
Rumble thy belly full! spit fire! spout rain!
Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears
Say to me, whose fortunes shall rise higher
Say, what is Honor?
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled
See how the Orient dew.
See living vales by living waters blest
See the chariot at hand here of love
See yonder souls set far within the shade
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.
Shall I, wasting in despair?
She, of whose Soul, if we may say, 'twas gold.
She's gane to dwell in heaven, my lassie
Shine kindly forth, September sun
Silence augmenteth grief-writing increaseth rage
Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water
Sing, and let your song be new
Sing. O Goddess, the wrath, the untamable dander of Keitt
Sitting in my window
Sleep is like death, and after sleep
So, when their feet were planted on the plain
St. Mark's hushed abbey heard
Star of the flowers and flower of the stars.
Stern daughter of the voice of God,
Sven Vonved binds his sword to his side.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright
Sweet echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen Sweetness, truth, and every grace
Sweet peace, where dost thou dwell
Sweet scented flower, who art wont to bloom.
D. A. WASSON