There, as she sewed, came floating through her head, 702. There be many kinds of parting - yes, I know, 715. There came to port last Sunday night, 589. There is a clouded city, gone to rest, 584. There is Lowell, who's striving Parnassus to climb, 205. There is no rhyme that is half so sweet, 708. There smiled the smooth Divine, unused to wound, 9. There's not a breath the dewy leaves to stir, 169. There's something in a noble boy, 105. There stood an unsold captive in the mart, 102. There was a captain-general who ruled in Vera Cruz, 269. There was a gay maiden lived down by the mill, 263. There was a land where lived no violets, 734. There was a man who watched the river flow, 519. There was a rose-tree grew so high, 761. The robin chants when the thrush is dumb, 536. The Rose aloft in sunny air, 350. The roses of yester year, 678. The royal feast was done; the King, 419. The Saviour, bowed beneath his cross, climbed up the dreary hill, 402. The scarlet tide of summer's life, 305. The sea-bound landsman, looking back to shore, 653. These are my scales to weigh reality, 714. The sea tells something, but it tells not all, 330. These lands are clothed in burning weather, 735. These pearls of thought in Persian gulfs were bred, 215. The shadows lay along Broadway, 105. The shapes that frowned before the eyes, 79. The sky is a drinking-cup, 281. The sky is low, the clouds are mean, 321. The smooth-worn coin and threadbare classic phrase, 383. The snow had begun in the gloaming, 215. The sparrow told it to the robin, 588. 542. The spring came earlier on, 415. The star must cease to burn with its own light, 412. The stars know a secret, 420. The sudden thrust of speech is no mean test, 696. The sun comes up and the sun goes down, 275. The Sun, departing, kissed the summer Sky, 763. The sun had set, 538. The sun has kissed the violet sea, 433. The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home, 288. The swallow is flying over, 187. The tide slips up the silver sand, 557. The trembling train clings to the leaning wall, 692. The trump hath blown, 89. The turtle on yon withered bough, 3. 708. They chained her fair young body to the cold and cruel stone, 498. They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars, 322. The Year had all the Days in charge, 587. They glare-those stony eyes! 247. They rise to mastery of wind and snow, 654. They say that, afar in the land of the west, 89. They tell me, Liberty! that in thy name, 102. They tell me that I must not love, 195. They tell you that Death's at the turn of the road, 637. They wait all day unseen by us, unfelt, 393. They who create rob death of half its stings, 496. Thine is the mystic melody, 755. Thine old-world eyes-each one a violet, 504. This ancient silver bowl of mine, it tells of good old times, 155. This bears the seal of immortality, 400. This bronze doth keep the very form and mould, 475. This, Children, is the famed Mon-goos, 698. This drop of ink chance leaves upon my pen, 676. This gentle and half melancholy breeze, 613. This is Palm Sunday: mindful of the day, 239. This is the song of the wave! The mighty one! 743. This is the way the baby slept, 561. This realm is sacred to the silent past, 328. This was the man God gave us when the hour, 652. This was your butterfly, you see, 374. Those days we spent on Lebanon, 377. Thou art as a lone watcher on a rock, 543. Thou art lost to me forever!-I have lost thee, Isadore! 164. Thou art mine, thou hast given thy word, 333. Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, 59. Though gifts like thine the fates gave not to me, 379. Though I am humble, slight me not, 22. Though Winter come with dripping skies, 723. Thou glorious mocker of the world! I hear, 163. Thou half-unfolded flower, 551. Thou livest, O soul! be sure, though earth be flames, 571. Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, 21. Thou, Sibyl rapt! whose sympathetic soul, 78. Thou spark of life that wavest wings of gold, 267. Thou tall, majestic monarch of the wood, 762. Thou wast all that to me, love, 147. Thou, who didst lay all other bosoms bare, 543. Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, 230. Thou who ordainest, for the land's salvation, 361. Thou,-whose endearing hand once laid in sooth, 339. Thou, who wouldst wear the name, 64. Through my open window comes the sweet perfuming, 767. Throughout the soft and sunlit day, 707. Through some strange sense of sight or touch, 709. Through storms you reach them and from storms are free, 237. Through the fierce fever I nursed him, and then he said, 579. Through the night, through the night, 280. Thunder our thanks to her-guns, hearts, and lips! 481. Thy cruise is over now, 75. Thy face I have seen as one seeth, 694. 'Tis to yourself I speak; you cannot know, 174. 'Tis true, one half of woman's life is hope, 330. To-day, dear heart, but just to-day, 712. To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o'er mapless miles of sea, 741. To him who in the love of Nature holds, 53. To me the earth once seemed to be, 368. To spring belongs the violet, and the blown, 385. Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles, 386. To stand within a gently gliding boat, 632. To the quick brow Fame grudges her best wreath, 351. To the sea-shells' spiral round, 379, Turn out more ale, turn up the light, 342. Turn with me from the city's clamorous street, 582. Tuscan, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, 115. 'Twas one of the charmëd days, 95. 'Twas summer, and the spot a cool retreat, 168. 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, 15. Two angels came through the gate of Heaven, 524. Upon my mantel-piece they stand, 743. Vengeful across the cold November moors, 728. Wake, Israel, wake! Recall to-day, 519. 594. Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations, 117. Way down upon de Swanee Ribber, 288. We are our fathers' sons: let those who lead us know! 726. We are the Ancient People, 398. We are two travellers, Roger and I, 292. Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms, 221. We had been long in mountain snow, 656. We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still, 392. We lay us down to sleep, 357. Well, yes, sir, that am a comical name, 558. Were I transported to some distant star, 672. We were not many -we who stood, 110. We were twin brothers, tall and hale, 485. What, are you hurt, Sweet? So am I, 521. What can console for a dead world? 411. What care I, what cares he, 452. What domes and pinnacles of mist and fire, 476. What dost thou here, 553. What! dost thou pray that the outgone tide be rolled back on the strand, 575. What end the gods may have ordained for me, 530. What fragrant-footed comer, 648. What great yoked brutes with briskets low, 428. What has become of the good ship Kite, 757. What if the Soul her real life elsewhere holds, 574. What is a sonnet? 'Tis the pearly shell, 476. "What is it to be dead?" O Life, 582. What is the little one thinking about? 234. What is there wanting in the Spring? 550. What man is there so bold that he should say, 395. What! Roses on thy tomb! and was there then, 674. What seek'st thou at this madman's pace? 606. What shall her silence keep, 711. What shall we do now, Mary being dead, 238. What shall we mourn? For the prostrate tree that sheltered the young greenwood? 480. What's love, when the most is said? The flash of the lightning fleet, 449. What songs found voice upon those lips, 495. What then, what if my lips do burn, 510. What was my dream? be clear, 430. What, what, what, 473. Though consciousness What will you give to a barefoot lass, 648. What wondrous sermons these seas preach to men! 736. When almond buds unclose, 629. When April rains make flowers bloom, 544. When calm is the night, and the stars shine bright, 15. Whence come ye, Cherubs? from the moon? 22. When Dorothy and I took tea, we sat upon the floor, 625. When dreaming kings, at odds with swift-paced time, 660. Whenever a little child is born, 587. When Freedom from her mountain height, 46. When from the gloom of earth we see the sky, 413. When from the vaulted wonder of the sky, 443. When I am standing on a mountain crest, 705. When I consider Life and its few years, 610. When I forth fare beyond this narrow earth, 541. When I'm in health and asked to choose, 753. When in my walks I meet some ruddy lad, 200. When in thy glass thou studiest thy face, 465. When Psyche's friend becomes her lover, 449. When she comes home again! A thousand ways, 559. When souls that have put off their mortal gear, 416. When stars pursue their solemn flight, 354. When the rose is brightest, 106. When the Sultan Shah-Zaman, 379. When wintry days are dark and drear, 488. When youth was lord of my unchallenged fate, 311. Where all the winds were tranquil, 619. Where Helen comes, as falls the dew, 718. Where now these mingled ruins lie, 5. Where swell the songs thou shouldst have sung, 409. Where the graves were many, we looked for one, 376. Where were ye, Birds, that bless his name, 490. While I recline, 314. While now the Pole Star sinks from sight, 236. White England shouldering from the sea, 644. White wings of commerce sailing far, 442. Who has robbed the ocean cave, 14. "Whom the gods love die young; "-if gods ye be, 708. Who nearer Nature's life would truly come, 78. 659. Why here, on this third planet from the Sun, 390. Why should I stay? Nor seed nor fruit have I, 490. Why shouldst thou cease thy plaintive song, 616. Why should we waste and weep, 260. Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing, 296. Will there really be a morning? 587. Wind of the North, 632. With eyes hand-arched he looks into, 710. With oaken staff and swinging lantern bright, 521. With sails full set, the ship her anchor weighs, 324. With saintly grace and reverent tread, 444. With wrath-flushed cheeks, and eyelids red, 674. Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool! 27. Withdraw thee, soul, from strife, 627. Within a poor man's squalid home I stood, 387. Within his sober realm of leafless trees, 250. Wouldst know the artist? Then go seek, 668. Years have flown since I knew thee first, 475. "Yer know me little nipper," 764. Yes, death is at the bottom of the cup, 387. Yes, he was that, or that, as you prefer, 444. Ye smooth-faced sons of Jacob, hug close your ingleside, 758. Yes, still I love thee! Time, who sets, 195. Yet, O my friend-pale conjurer, I call, 631. Ye white Sicilian goats, who wander all, 770. Yon clouds that roam the deserts of the air, 630. You ask a verse, to sing (ah, laughing face!) 351. You ax about dat music made, 748. You gave me roses, love, last night, 582. Young to the end through sympathy with youth, 637. Your heart is a music-box, dearest ! 170. You will come, my bird, Bonita? 430. |