A INDEX OF FIRST LINES. CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound Page 156 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 14 A jolly comrade in the port, a fearless mate at sea 110 A Spirit haunts the year's last hours. 187 136 All thought, all passions, all delights At me one night the angry moon Alexis calls me cruel Among these latter busts we count by scores As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight 96 227 64 89 101 93 Being your slave, what should I do but tend Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged-'tis at a white heat now 125 Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though 177 Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vow'd Dost thou look back on what hath been 137 240 27 76 254 Ere on my bed my limbs I lay. 242 101 Full knee-deep lies the winter-snow. 266 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may 63 Get up our Anna dear, from the weary spinning- 113 Good-bye, proud world, I'm going home Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to Hail! beauteous stranger of the grove 163 18 54 217 167 19 How do I love thee? let me count the ways 30 13 How long I sail'd and never took a thought 40 221 How sweet it were, if without feeble fright 130 Page I arise from dreams of thee I cannot see the features right. I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night I shot an arrow into the air I wander'd by the brook-side I will not have the mad Clytie. I wish I were where Helen lies I wish that when you died last May It is the miller's daughter It is the first mild day of March 265 199 167 109 235 21 203 16 204 39 158 66 88 252 264 120 260 71 188 211 160 37 206 No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Now fades the last long streak of snow Now hands to seed-sheet, boys. Page 246 189 37 Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly. O blithe new-comer! I have heard 143 104 250 5 185 O give me, from this heartless scene released 137 196 O Mary, go and call the cattle home 139 O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray O Tibbie, I hae seen the day O unknown Belov'd one! to the mellow season O, where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son 1 3 79 115 238 212 158 261 41 235 81 One more unfortunate 214 On Linden, when the sun was low 29 Orphan hours, the year is dead 102 Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness 107 9 256 She dwelt among the untrodden ways She's up and gone, the graceless girl 162 72 248 Page Sigh on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse So am I as the rich, whose blessed key So here hath been dawning 44 Since there's no help, come let us kiss and parte 179 159 8 Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean 173 52 Tell me, thou star whose wings of light 24 25 The dark green Summer with its massive hues The might of one fair face sublimes my love The skies they were ashen and sober The swallow with summer The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing The waters are flashing The year lies dying in this evening light There is no architect can build. 153 189 89 51 200 149 12 74 44 226 This Sycamore, oft musical with bees Thou lingering star with lessening ray Tiger, tiger, burning bright Up! quit thy bower, late wears the hour |