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Whose is the gold that glitters in the mine?.
Who will tell me the secret, the cause, . . .
Who would by law regain his plundered store,
Who would call the tench a whale. . . . .
Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene, .
Why art thou colored like the evening sky,
Why art thou silent: Is thy love a plant, .
Why, death, what dost thou here, . . .
Why don't the men propose, mamma2 ..
Why should we faint and fear to live alone,
Why so pale and wan, fond lover ! . . . .
Why start at death ! Where is he? . . . .
Why thus longing, thus forever tighing, .
Why was I born, and where was 1,
Widow Machree, it's no wonder you
Wild rose of Alloway my thanks; -
Will the day ever come, I wonder, . . .
Wilt thou forgive me in that other sphere,
Winged mimic of the woods ! thou motley fool
With fingers weary and worn, - - -
Within the sober realm of leafless trees, .
Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies, .
With irresolute finger he knocked at each one,
With my beloved I lingered late one night,
Without your showers, . . . . . . . . . . . .
With the same letter heaven and home begin, .
Woman's faith and woman's trust, . . . . . .
Woodman, spare that tree " . . . . . . . . .
Woods, waters, have a charm to soothe the ear,

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Years, years ago, ere yet my dreams, . . . . . .
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around, . . .
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, - - - -
Ye field flowers "the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true,
Ye Mariners of England ' . . . . . . . . . .
Yes, faith is a goodly anchor; . . . . . . .
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; . -
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, . . . .
Yes, 'twill be over soon, — . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Yes, write, if you want to, there's nothing like trying;
Yet of his little he had some to spare, . . . . . . .
Yet once more, griever at Neglect, - - - - -
“Yet, onward still !” the spirit cries within, . , .
Yet, though thou fade, . . . . . . . . - - -
Ye've gathered to your place of prayer, . . -
Yon car of fire, though veiled by day, . .
Yon woodland, like a human mind, . . . . . .
You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
You may drink to your leman in gold, . . . .
Young Ben, he was a nice young man, . - - -
Young Rory O'More courted Kathleen Bawn, . .
Your l'oem must eternal be, . . . . . . . . . .
You think you love me, Marguerite, . . . . . . . .
Youtli. thou art sled,—but where are all the charms,

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TO-o- 202 Main Library

LOAN PERIOD T HOME USE

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ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS
Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date.
Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405

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