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The wintry west extends his blast
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
They made her a grave too cold and damp
They told me I was heir: I turned in haste
They that never had the use
Think we King Harry strong.
This ae night, this ae night

This army led by a delicate and tender prince
This bright wood-fire

dew

This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
This knight a doughter hadde by his wif.
This morning, timely rapt with holy fire
Thou art not gone, being gone
Thou blossom bright with autumn
Though the day of my destiny's over
Thou hast learned the woes of all the world
Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeannie
Thou hidden love of God! whose height
Thou that art our queen again

Thou that hast a daughter

Thou that hast given so much to me.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!

Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance.
Three days through sapphire seas we sailed
Three poets in three distant ages born

Three score o' nobles rade up the king's ha'
Three years she grew in sun and shower.
Thy braes were bonny, yarrow stream.
Thy voice is heard through rolling drums
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back.
Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep.
'Tis madness to resist or blame

Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more
'Tis not every day that I

'Tis not in battles that from youth we train

'Tis truth, although this truth's a star

To be furious

To beguile the time

To be no more sad cure

To be or not to be, that is the question

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

To heroism and holiness

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To the belfry one by one, went the ringers from the sun MRS. BROWNING
To the Lords of Convention

404

SCOTT

449

True bard and simple, -as the race

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Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky

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'Twas All-Souls' eve, and Surrey's heart beat high

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'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won

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When spring to woods and wastes around
When the British warrior queen

When biting Boreas, fell and doure
Whence is it that the air so sudden clears
When Chapman billies leave the street
When coldness wraps this suffering clay
When daisies pied and violets blue
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought

When first thou didst entice to thee my heart
When Flora with her fragrant flowers.
When God at first made man

When I a verse shall make

When I consider how my light is spent

When I do count the clock that tells the time

When I love as some have told.

When Love with unconfined wings

When Music, heavenly maid, was young

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Ye sigh not when the sun his course fulfilled

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more

When the moon is on the wave

When the radiant morn of creation broke
When we in our viciousness grow hard
When whispering strains with creeping wind.
When wise Minerva still was young

When with the virgin morning thou dost rise.
Where dost thou careless lie

Where have ye been, ye ill woman?

Where is Timarchus gone?

Where like a pillow on a bed

Where the bee sucks, there suck I

Where the remote Bermudas ride

Which I wish to remark.

While from the purpling east departs

While malice, Pope, denies thy page

Whither midst falling dew.

Who counts himself as nobly born

Who can divine what impulses from God

Who is the happy warrior

Who is the honest man

Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way

Whoso him bethoft

Why fearest thou the outward foe

Willie stands in his stable door

Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day
Winstanley's deed, you kindly folk

Within my ears resounds that ancient song

Within the mind strong fancies work

With joys unknown, with sadness unconfessed.
With naked foot and sackcloth vest.
With sacritice before the rising morn
Woof of the fen, ethereal gauze
Would wisdom for herself be wooed

Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers
Ye mariners of England

Ye scattered birds that faintly sing

Yes, I answered you last night

Yet a few days, and thee

Yet do I fear thy nature.

You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier

You meaner beauties of the night

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me for his bride

WORDSWORTH

WORDSWORTH

HERBERT
MOORE

ANONYMOUS

JEAN INGELOW

INGHAM

F. B. SANBORN
SCOTT

WORDSWORTH

THOREAU
PATMORE

BURNS

TOM TAYLOR

WOTTON

LADY ANNE LINDSAY

BYRON
SHAKSPEARE

You that can look through Heaven, and tell the stars BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

Young Neuha plunged into the deep

Your grace shall pardon me

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown

BYRON.

512

BRYANT

44

SHAKSPEARE

510

WILLIAM STRODE

127

LOWELL

483

HERRICK.

185

BEN JONSON

93

HOGG

487

FROM SIMONIDES

463

DONNE

SHAKSPEARE

440

MARVELL

41

BRET HARTE

504

WORDSWORTH

9

DAVID LEWIS

BRYANT.

E. S. H..

518

33

196

195

266

162

ANONYMOUS

154

BUCHAN'S BALLADS

321

SHAKSPEARE

5

322

GOETHE: TRANS. BY FROTH

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میرا

M.

If I were

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المدة

"ch, Fir, you are much &
But as you are not my mother,
And I om not your son, --
"Oh, that is a different matter,

Maybe I'll awe you one.

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