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431

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

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Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun
Again the violet of our early days
A good that never satisfies the mind
A grace though melancholy, manly too
A heavenly Night!-methinks to me
Ah Sunflower I weary of time
A hundred wings are dropt as soft as one
Ah! what avails the sceptred race
Ah! what a weary race my feet have run
A juggler long through all the town
Alexis, here she stayed ; among these pines
All thoughts, all passions, all delights
All travellers at first incline
All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom .
Although I enter not
And are ye sure the news is true ?
An hour with thee !-When earliest day
Another year l-another deadly blow!.
Art thou pale for weariness
As, by some tyrant's stern command
As due by many titles, I resign.
As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep .
Ask me no more : the moon may draw the sea
Ask me no more where Jove bestows
Ask me why I send you here
As near Porto-Bello lying
A steed, a steed of matchless speed
Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake
Away, let nought to love displeasing
A wee bird came to our ha' door

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370
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Can I see another's woe.
Can I, who have for others oft compiled
Child of a day, thou knowest not
Cold in the earth-and the deep snow piled above thee
Come, dear children, let us away
Come live with me, and be my love
Come, O Thou traveller unknown
Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
Come Sleep, 0 Sleep, the certain knot of peace
Conceit, begotten by the eyes
Condemned to Hope's delusive mine

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52
312
319
329

23
231

34
29

4

211

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

144

Earth hath not anything to show more fair
E'en such is time ; which takes on trust
Ere, in the northern gale.

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Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries
Fair ship, that from the Italian shore
Fair Star of Evening; Splendour of the West
Fair stood the wind for France .
False world, good night, since thou hast brought
False world, thou liest ; thou canst not lend
Fare well man's dark last journey o'er the deep
Farewell, too little and too lately known
Fear no more the heat o' the sun
First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come
Five years have passed; five summers, with the length
Fly fro the prease, and dwell with soothfastnesse
Forget not yet the tried intent
Fresh clad from heaven in robes of white
Friend faber, cast me a round hollow ball
From you have I been absent in the spring

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16

303
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30

k Genius and its rewards are briefly told .

Give place, ye lovers, here before
Go, empty joys
Go, lovely Rose! .
God gives not kings the style of gods in vain
Gone were but the winter cold
Go, silly worm, drudge, trudge, and travel
Go, Soul, the body's guest
Great Monarch of the world, from whose power springs
Green little vaulter on the sunny grass.
Grieve not, dear love, although we often part .

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7
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Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!.
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit
Hamelin Town's in Brunswick
Happy the man, whose wish and care
Happy those early days, when I
Hardly we breathe, although the air be free
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
Heaven, what an age is this ! what race
Hence, all you vain delights
Hence, loathèd Melancholy
Hence, vain deluding Joys
Here lies a piece of Christ; a star in dust
Her sufferings ended with the day!
He safely walks in darkest ways
He whom Heaven did call away
Hope, of all ills that men endure
How fresh, oh Lord, how sweet and clean
How happy is he born and taught
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
How soon doth man decay !
How wisely Nature did decree .

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I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair
If all the world and Love were young
If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song
If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stayed
If I had thought thou could'st have died
If the base violence of wicked men
If thou wilt ease thine heart
If women could be fair, and yet not fond
I give thee treasures hour by hour
I hear no more the locust beat
*I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light
I mourn no more my vanished years

FF

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I'm wearin' awa', John.
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
In this marble buried lies
In this marble casket lies
I press not to the choir, nor dare I greet
I saw where in the shroud did lurk
Is this the spot where Rome's eternal foe
I stood within the grave's o'ershadowing vault
I thought to meet no more, so dreary seemed
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free
It is not beauty I demand
It is not growing like a tree
I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking
I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile
I weigh not fortune's frown or smile
I were unkind unless that I did shed
I will not praise the often-flattered rose
I wish I were where Helen lies .

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