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 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'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 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 John Anderson, my jo, John John Brown in Kansas settled like a steadfast Just now I've ta'en a fit of rhyme Kings, queens, lords, ladies, knights, and damsels SPENSER 293 Knowing the heart of man is set to be DANIEL 517 King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill LOCKHART'S SPANISH BAL- 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 I've taught me other tongues MILTON. Life and thought have gone away Life may be given in many ways 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 Look not thou on beauty's charming 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 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 domne November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh Now is the time for mirth Now is the winter of our discontent. Now Nature hangs her mantle green Now overhead a rainbow bursting through BURNS 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 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 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 2-9 SPENSER CHAUCER. T. MOORE WORDSWORTH BURNS CHAPMAN CHANNING BUTLER Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered CAMPBELL Stern daughter of the voice of God. Still to be neat, still to be drest Since I am coming to that holy room Since our country our God— Oh, my sire! Since the sun Sing, and let your song be new Sing, O Goddess, the wrath, the ontamable dander 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 Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright Sweet echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen Sweet peace, where dost thou dwell Sweet scented flower, who art wont to bloom BEN JONSON TENNYSON BEN JONSON MISS S. H. PALFREY E. S. H. HERRICK MILTON WALLER BYRON. F. B. SANBORN BURNS FULKE BROOKE) MOORE DONNE BYRON WORDSWORTH SIR PHILIP SIDNEY PUNCH 59 462 439 GREVILLE (LORD 467 126 186 203 44 181 500 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER 71 The birds against the April wind The bush that has most briars and bitter fruit The curfew tolls the knell of parting day The earth goes on, the earth glittering in gold. The feathered songster Chanticleer The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices The gods be your terror. The harp that once through Tara's halls The king is full of grace and fair regard The king is kind; and well we know The Lord descended from above The minstrels played their Christmas tune The muse, nae poet ever fand her The night is past and shines the sun BYRON The old man said, "Take thou this shield, my son' The old mayor climbed the belfry tower There are points from which we can command our life P. BAILEY The recluse hermit ofttimes more doth know There in the fane a beauteous creature stands There is a history in all men's lives There is a mystery in the soul of state There is an island on a river lying There is a pleasure in the pathless woods There is a stream, I name not its name There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale There where death's brief pang was quickest. There was a laughing devil in his sneer There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. Ther is right at the West side of Itaille The sea rolls vaguely, and the stars are dumb The sky is changed; and such a change The snows arise; and foul and fierce The spacious firmament on high The spirits I have raised abandon me The splendor falls on castle walls. The stars above will make thee known The wanton troopers riding by The weather leech of the topsail shivers. TENNYSON J. W. MORRIS A. H. CLOUGH. GOWER BYRON BYRON COWLEY WHITTIER SCOTT W. MITCHELL. 284 S. G. W 150 JEAN INGELOW 340 296 491 28 20 517 31 269 497 265 512 222 |