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if those, who live in shepherd's bower, .
If thou wert by my side, my love, .

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,
If to be absent, were to be,

If, when you labor all the day,

If you love me, tell me not;

I gave my little girl back to the daisies,

I gazed upon the glorious sky,

I give thee treasures hour by hour,
Igreet thee, loving letter

I grew assured before I asked,

I haf von funny leedle poy,

I have a little kinsman,.

I have been sitting alone,

I have had playmates, I have had companions,

I hear it often in the dark,

I know a bright and beauteous May,

I know a girl with teeth of pearl,

I know not how it is;

I know that all beneath the moon decays

I lie in the summer meadows,

I like a church; I like a cowl; —

"I'll take the orchard path," she said,

I long have been puzzled to guess,

I long have had a quarrel set with Time,

I lost my treasures one by one,.

I loved thee long and dearly,.

I love to look on a scene like this,

I'm not a chicken! I have seen,
I'm not where I was yesterday,

I mourn no more my vanished years,

I must lament, Nature commands it so:

I'm wearin' awa', Jean,

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,

In a valley, centuries ago,..

In all my wanderings round this world of care,

In eldest time, ere mortals writ or read,

I never cast a flower away,

In every village marked with little spire,
In hazy gold the hillside sleeps,
In later years veiling its unblest face,

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P. P. Cooke,

151

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Willis,

651

Holmes,

733

Lord Houghton,

286

Whittier,

641

Quarles,

451

394

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Trowbridge,

608

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,

Tennyson,

580

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
In my nostrils, the summer wind,.

Emerson,

214

T. B. Aldrich,

10

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed,.

Scott,

478

In the balmy April weather,

In purple robes old Sliavnamon,

In schools of wisdom all the day was spent:

In silent ease, at least in silence, dine,

Interred beneath this marble stone,

In the dewy depths of the grave-yard,

In Thee, O blessed God, I hope,

In the fireshine at the twilight,.

In the garden of death, where the singers,

In the hour of my distress,

In these deep solitudes and awful cells,

In the spring, perverse and sour,

In the stormy waters of Galloway,

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In the warm valley, rich in summer's wealth,
Into a city street,

Into a ward of the whitewashed walls,

In yonder grave a Druid lies,

I once was a jolly young beau,

I only polished am in mine own dust

I prithee send me back my heart,

I remember, I remember,

said, if I might go back again,

I sat in a darkened chamber,.

I saw a child, once, that had lost its way, .

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I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
I saw the little boy,

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I saw the long line of the vacant shore,

I saw two clouds at morning,

I saw two maids at the kirk,

I say, whatever you maintain,

I see the ancient master pale and worn,

I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,

I shall not see thee. Dare I say,

I sit on the lonely headland,

Is it not possible that all the love,.

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he

Is there, for honest poverty,

Is this a fast-to keep

I stopped to read the milestone here,
It comes betwixt me and the amethyst,
I thought to find some healing clime,
It is a beauteous evening, calin and free,
It is enough: I feel, this golden morn,
It is not death, that sometime in a sigh,
It is not growing like a tree,
It is not that my lot is low,
It is the good of dreams - - so soon they go
It is the miller's daughter,

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It is the Soul that sees; the outward eyes,
It lies around us like a cloud-

It must be so- Plato, thou reason'st well!
It must be so, poor, fading, mortal thing!
It's O my heart, my heart,.

It's very hard! - and so it is,

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It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye,
It was a blithesome young jongleur,

It was an old, distorted face,

It was a summer evening, .

It was many and many a year ago,

It was not in the winter,

It was not meant,

It was the winter wild,

I've drunk good wine,

I've heard the lilting at our ewe-milking,
I've regretted most sincerely,

I've wandered east, I've wandered west,

I wait,

I waked from slumber at the dead of night,

I wandered by the brookside,

I wandered lonely as a cloud,

I was a young fair tree;

I will not love! These sounds have often,

I will paint her as I see her; .

I won a noble fame ;

I wonder, child, if, when you cry, .

I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,

I wonder what day of the week

I would not enter on my list of friends,

Jerusalem the Golden !.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

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H. W. Longfellow,.

343

Brainard,

52

Stoddard,

540

M. Prior,

774

Landon,

327

Cowper,.

716

Tennyson,

575

B. Taylor,.

564

Brackett,

52

R. Browning,

70

Burns,

82

Herrick,.

267

J. J. Piatt,
Preston,.

418

435

P. Cary,

127

Wordsworth,

675

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Lady Clara Vere de Vere,.

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth,

Lady, when first the message came to me,
Laocoon! thou great embodiment,

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Lars Porsena of Clusium,

Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chili

Late or early, home returning,

Launch thy bark, mariner!

Laura, my darling, the roses have blushed,

Leaning my bosom on a pointed thorn,

Leaves have their time to fall,

Let me move slowly through the street,
Let me not deem that I was made in vain,
Let me not lay the lightest feather's weight,
Let me not to the marriage of true minds,
Let no poet, great or small,

Let thy gold be cast in the furnace,

Let winter come! let polar spirits sweep,
Let your truth stand sure,.

Life answers, "No! If ended here be life,"
Life evermore is fed by death,

Life! I know not what thou art,

Life's mystery, deep, restless as the ocean,
Life's sadly solemn mystery,.

Life will be gone ere I have lived;

Light after darkness,

Like a lady's ringlets brown,.

Like morning blooms that meet the sun,
Like to the clear in highest sphere,
Listed into the cause of sin,

Little inmate, full of mirth,

Lo, from the city's heat and dust,.

Lo! here a little volume, but large book,
Lo! here the best, the worst, the world,
Lo, it is the even of To-day,

Long waited for, the lingering sun arose ;
Look at his pretty face for just one minute!
Look at me with thy large brown eyes, .
Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,
Look through mine eyes with thine,

Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
Lord, for the erring thought,

Lord, living here are we

Lord, many times I am aweary quite,

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Lord, what a busy, restless thing,.

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Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round,

Lo! that small office! there th' incautious guest,

Love, dearest lady, such as I would speak,

Love is too great a happiness,

Lovely, lasting peace of mind!

Love me if I live! .

Love that hath us in the net,

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Hood,

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Tennyson,
Spofford,
T. Gray,

Byron,

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Allen,

16

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E. Young,

683

Rogers,

461

Crabbe,

165

Byron,

99

J. C. R. Dorr,

193

Cowley,.

156

Mine to the core of the heart, my beauty!

Minutely trace man's life; year after year,

Misfortune, I am young-my chin is bare,'

Martial, the things that do attain,
Maud Muller, on a summer's day,.
Men of thought, be up and stirring,
Midnight in drear New England,
Mid the flower-wreathed tombs Í stand,
Midway about the circle of the year,
Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; Howe,

Month which the warring ancients strangely styled,.
"More poets yet!" I hear him say, .
Mortality, behold and fear,

Most perfect attribute of love, that knows,
Mother, in the sunset glow,

Mother of tortures! persecuting Zeal,
Move eastward, happy earth, and leave,

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,
Music, when soft voices die,

Muster thy wit, and talk of whatsoever,
My coachiman, in the moonlight there,
My conscience is my crown;

My critic Hammond flatters prettily,

My daughter! with thy name this song begun,
My days pass pleasantly away; . .

My fairest child, I have no song to give you,

My friendly fire, thou blazest clear and bright,.
My God, I thank Thee, who hast made,

My grief or mirth,.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains,
My heid is like to rend, Willie,

My liege, your anger can recall your trust,
My life is like the summer rose,

My little child, so sweet a voice might wake,
My little love, do you remember,

My little maiden of four years old-
My mind to me a kingdom is,

Mynheer, blease helb a boor oldt man,
My pictures blacken in their frames,

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Myself I force some narrowest passage through,
My sister! my sweet sister! if a name,

My soul, there is a country,

My soul to-day,

Mysterious Night! when our first parents knew,

My uncle Philip, hale old man,

My wind has turned to bitter north,

My window that looks down the west,

Nae star was glintin' out aboon,
Nature, in zeal for human amity,

Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring,
Nay, smile not at my sullen brow,

Nay, soul, though near to dying, do not this!
Nay, thank me not again for those,
Near a small village in the West,

Nearer, my God, to thee,

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,

Never any more,

New being is from being ceased;

No blank, no trifle, Nature made, or meant,

No coward soul is mine,

No; I shall pass into the Morning Land,

No man e'er found a happy life by chance;
None are unhappy; all have cause to smile,

Noon, and the northwest sweeps the empty road,
Nor cold nor stern, my soul! yet I detest,
Nor force nor fraud shall sunder us! O ye —
Nor reason, nor affection, no, nor both,

Southwell,

E. B. Browning,
Byron,
Saxe,

Byron,
Symonds,
Landor,.
Praed,
S. F. Adams,
Goldsmith,
R. Browning,
Savage,
E. Young,
E. Bronte,
M. Collins,
E. Young,.
E. Young,.
Morris,
S. T. Coleridge,
Dobell,

E. Young,

Earl of Surrey,

551

J. G. Whittier,

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Mackay,

362

Brownell,

59

Higginson,

269

Saxton,

852

H. K. White,

634

289

Craik,

171

Crabbe,

168

H. K. White,

636

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Jackson,

831

Dobson,

722

Beaumont,

37

Preston,.

434

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Butts,

89

Thomson,

595

Tennyson,

585

Keats,

314

Shelley,.

492

Lussell,

851

Lowell,

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Kingsley,

321

R. Southey,

522

A. A. Procter,

440

A. T. De Vere,

184

Keats,

312

Motherwell,

391

E. B. Lytton,

839

R. H. Wilde,

649

S. M. B. Piatt,

421

R. B. Lytton,

840

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Whitney,

638

Dyer,

819

C. F. Adams,

686

Landor,.

328

Trench,.

605

Byron,

95

Vaughan,

623

Read,

456

B. White,

634

Stoddard,

780

Clough,

131

Whitney,

637

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No song of a soldier riding down,
No sound of life was coming,

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Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
Not a kiss in life; but one kiss, at life's end,
Not from the whole wide world I choose thee,
Nothing but leaves; the spirit grieves,.
Nothing resting in its own completeness,
Nothing to wear! Now, as this is a true ditty,
Not in a moment drops the rose,

Not made by worth, nor marred by flaw,
No, Tom, you may banter as much as you please;
Not profitless the game, even when we lose,
Nought is there under heaven's wide hollowness,
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
Now haud ye there, ye're out of sight,
Now is my love all ready forth to come;
Now lies the Earth all Banae to the stars,
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Now summer finds her perfect prime!

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,

Now the third and fatal conflict for the Persian throne,
Now we're afloat upon the tropic sea;

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O fair midspring, besung so oft and oft,
Of all the attributes whose starry rays,.
Of all the mysteries wherethrough we move,
Of all the streams that seek the sea,.
Of all the thoughts of God that are,"

Of all the woodland flowers of earlier spring,

Of mortal glory O soon darkened ray!
Of Nelson and the North,

Of other men I know no jealousy,

Often I have heard it said,

Often the painful present is comforted,

Oft have I walked these woodland paths,
Oft in the stilly night,

Oft may the spirits of the dead descend,
Oft see we in the garish round of day,
O gentle, gentle summer rain,

O gift of God! O perfect day;

O grandly flowing River!

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O God! if this indeed be all,

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Oh, beautiful green grass! Earth-covering fair
Oh, deem not they are blest alone,

Oh, ever skilled to wear the form we love,

Oh, glad am I that I was born!

Oh, grief that wring'st mine eyes with tears,"

Oh, grievous folly! to heap up estate,

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232

8

.

443

701

448

660

Cranch,

719

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Buchanan,.

807

Hopkins,

829

Wordsworth,

676

T. B. Aldrich,

12

Prentice,

847

S. H. Palfrey,

847

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S. T. Coleridge,.

140

Story,

543

W. Morris,

390

Preston,

435

Symonds,

560

E. D. Proctor,

447

E. B. Browning,

60

Hayne,

257

Drummond,

198

T. Campbell,

114

Gilder,

233

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