350

Index to First Lines

The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade
The sun is warm, the sky is clear

The sun upon the lake is low

The twentieth year is well-nigh past

The World is too much with us; late and soon

The world's a bubble and the Life of Man

There be none of Beauty's daughters

There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine
There is a garden in her face

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream
They that have power to hurt, and will do none.

This is the month, and this the happy morn

This Life, which seems so fair

Three years she grew in sun and shower
Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
Timely blossom, Infant fair

Tired with all these, for restful death I
Toll for the Brave

To me, fair Friend, you never can be old
'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
'Twas on a lofty vase's side

Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea

Under the greenwood tree

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying
Victorious men of earth, no more

Waken, lords and ladies gay
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie
Were I as base as is the lowly plain
We talk'd with open heart, and tongue
We walk'd along, while bright and red
We watch'd her breathing thro' the night
When as in silks my Julia goes.

335
22

45

40

194

129

93

121

cry

43

132

ΙΟ

112

120

228

6

327

65

262

152

18

330

328

256

84

When he who adores thee has left but the name
When icicles hang by the wall
When I consider how my light is spent

When I have borne in memory what has tamed
When I have fears that I may cease to be.
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
When in the chronicle of wasted time
When lovely woman stoops to folly

230

215

9

14

141

307

When the lamp is shatter'd

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

When we two parted

211

163

20

205

Where art thou, my beloved Son

Where shall the lover rest

Where the remote Bermudas ride

While that the sun with his beams hot

27

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
You meaner beauties of the night

179

89

198

282

162

141

170

222

274

59

78

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