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Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 385.
Bright Flower!whose home is everywhere, 334.
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou
Bright tulips, we do know, 123.
Bury the Great Duke, 666.
But anxious cares the pensive nymph opprest,
But do not let us quarrel any more, 787.
By this the northerne wagoner had set, 29.
Calme was the day, and through the trem-
How changed is here each spot man makes or
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 238.
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 123.
Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up,
Fair Star of evening, Splendour of the west,
Fare thee well! and if for ever, 451.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the
Fear death? to feel the fog in my throat,
First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and
Five years have past; five summers, with the
Flee fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfast-
Flower in the crannied wall, 626.
For auld lang syne, my dear, 298.
From harmony, from heav'nly harmony, 196.
From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done,
From Stirling castle we have seen, 336.
Full fathom five thy father lies, 116.
I am just seventeen years and five months
I am monarch of all I survey, 262.
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! 781.
I and Clive were friends - and why not? 827.
I arise from dreams of thee, 533.
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way,
If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 241.
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, 541.
If from the public way you turn your steps,
If this great world of joy and pain, 357.
I held it truth, with him who sings, 629.
met a traveller from an antique land, 528.
In one of those excursions may they ne'er,
In the deserted, moon-blanched street, 600.
In the hour of my distress, 124.
In these deep solitudes and awful cells, 220.
In these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces
In this lone, open glade I lie, 602.
In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, 377.
I said Then, dearest, since 't is so, 776.
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bow-
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 121.
Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn,
Goethe in Weimar sleeps; and Greece, 611.
Go, fetch to me a pint o'wine, 294.
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill,
Go thou forth, my book, though late, 124.
Grow old along with me! 790.
Had I but plenty of money, money enough
I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he,
Is there for honest poverty, 300.
Is this a fast, to keep, 126.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child,
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, 332.
It is an ancient Mariner, 358.
"It is not to be thought of that the Flood,"
It little profits that an idle king, 624.
I travelled among unknown men, 309.
It seems a day, 307.
It was a dreary morning when the wheels, 316.
I wandered lonely as a cloud, 337.
I weep for Adonais - he is dead! 518.
Just for a handful of silver he left us, 760.
John Anderson my jo, John, 295.
John Gilpin was a citizen, 273.
Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, 759.
King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
Know ye the land where the cypress and
Leodogran, the king of Cameliard, 670.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds, 118.
Light flows our war of mocking words; and
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled
Live, live with me, and thou shalt see, 123.
Lo! I the man, whose Muse whylome did
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell, 125.
Maid of Athens, ere we part, 449.
Many a green isle needs must be, 528.
Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour,
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
Music, when soft voices die, 542.
My hair is grey, but not with years, 470.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains,
My heart leaps up when I behold, 330.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not
My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend!
My seventeenth year was come, 315.
My sister! my sweet sister! if a name, 452.
My thirst I slaked, and, from the cheerless
Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-
There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs,
'Shut, shut the door, good John!' fatigued I
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless
Som tyme this world was so stedfast and
Souls of Poets dead and gone, 544.
St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! 560.
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! 338.
Stop, Christian passer-by! — Stop, child of
Strange fits of passion have I known, 308.
Strew on her roses, roses, 581.
Strong Son of God, immortal Love, 629.
Sunset and evening star, 750.
Sweet and low, sweet and low, 627.
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes, 119.
Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, 542.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tell me where is fancy bred, 115.
That second time they hunted me, 774.
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, 742.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the
The Chieftain reared his form on high, 409.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 245.
The Deil's awa, the Deil's awa, 297.
The Deil cam fiddlin thro' the town, 297.
The fountains mingle with the river, 534.
The Frost performs its secret ministry, 379.
The gallant Youth, who may have gained, 356.
The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 290.
The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece! 496.
The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent, 677.
The lovely lass of Inverness, 297.
The noble hart, that harbours vertuous
The Poet's soul was with me at that time, 320.
The poplars are fell’d; farewell to the shade,
There be none of Beauty's daughters, 451.
There is sweet music here that softer falls, 623.
There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier, 618.
There's a palace in Florence, the world knows
There's not a joy the world can give like that
it takes away, 450.
There's not a nook within this solemn Pass,
There was a lass, and she was fair! 301.
There was a roaring in the wind all night, 330.
There was a time when meadow, grove, and
There was in Asie, in a greet citee, 11.
The sea is calm to-night, 598.
These to His Memory since he held them
The sky is ovetcast, 303.
The splendor falls on castle walls, 627.
The sun is warm, the sky is clear, 532.
The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 413.
The twentieth year is well-nigh past, 279.
The way was long, the wind was cold, 384.
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Though the day of my destiny's over, 452.
Thou ling'ring star with less'ning ray, 296.
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, 567.
Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
Three years she grew in sun and shower, 309.
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused, 614.
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry, 117.
'T is known, at least it should be, that
'T is morning; and the sun with ruddy orb,
'T is the middle of night by the castle clock,
Titan! to whose immortal eyes, 483.
To die be given us, or attain! 581.
To fair Fidele's grassy tomb, 243.
Toll for the brave! 278.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 118.
To one who has been long in city pent, 544.
T' our tale. --The feast was over, the slaves