Verse > Anthologies > Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. > An American Anthology, 1787–1900
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CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908).  An American Anthology, 1787–1900.  1900.
  
Index to First Lines
“Sadly as some”
to “The wreath”


Sadly as some old mediæval knight
Said Life to Death: Methinks, if I were you
Said the archangels, moving in their glory
Sarvent, Marster! Yes, sah, dat ’s me
Saturnian mother! why dost thou devour
Say, in a hut of mean estate
Says Stonewall Jackson to Little Phil
Say there! P’r’aps
Science long watched the realms of space
Scorn not the sonnet, though its strength be sapped
Seal thou the window! Yea, shut out the light
See, from this counterfeit of him
See, yonder, the belfry tower
Serene, I fold my hands and wait
Serene, vast head, with silver cloud of hair
Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden
Shakespeare and Milton—what third blazoned name
She came among the gathering crowd
She came and stood in the Old South Church
She came and went as comes and goes
She comes like the hush and beauty of the night
She comes—the spirit of the dance!
She dances
She dreams of Love upon the temple stair
She felt, I think, but as a wild-flower can
She has gone to be with the angels
She knew that she was growing blind
She leaned her cheek upon her hand
She lives in light, not shadow
She might have known it in the earlier Spring
Shepherd, wilt thou take counsel of the bird
She roves through shadowy solitudes
She sees her image in the glass
She’s had a Vassar education
She sits within the white oak hall
She ’s loveliest of the festal throng
She told the story, and the whole world wept
She wanders up and down the main
She was a beauty in the days
She was so little—little in her grave
Sigh not for love,—the ways of love are dark!
Silence and Solitude may hint
Silence instead of thy sweet song, my bird
Silence was envious of the only voice
Silent amidst unbroken silence deep
Since Cleopatra died!” Long years are past
Since o’er thy footstool here below
Sing me a sweet, low song of night
Sin-satiate, and haggard with despair
Skeeters am a hummin’ on de honeysuckle vine
Skin creamy as the furled magnolia bud
Skirting the river road (my forenoon walk, my rest)
Sleep, love, sleep!
Sleep, Motley, with the great of ancient days
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Sleep sweetly in your humble graves
Slow, groping giant, whose unsteady limbs
Slowly by God’s hand unfurled
Snare me the soul of a dragon-fly
Snatch the departing mood
So all day long I followed through the fields
Soe, Mistress Anne, faire neighbour myne
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Softer than silence, stiller than still air
Softly!
Softly now the light of day
Soft on the sunset sky
Soft-sandalled twilight, handmaid of the night
Soft-throated South, breathing of summer’s ease
So happy were Columbia’s eight
Solemnly, mournfully
So Love is dead that has been quick so long!
Some space beyond the garden close
Some tell us ’t is a burnin’ shame
Something, it may be, you and I
Something more than the lilt of the strain
Sometimes, when after spirited debate
Some time there ben a lyttel boy
Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas
Somewhere—in desolate wind-swept space
Sorrow, my friend
So that soldierly legend is still on its journey
So, the powder ’s low, and the larder ’s clean
Soul of a tree ungrown, new life out of God’s life proceeding
Soul, wherefore fret thee? Striving still to throw
Southrons, hear your country call you!
Sparkling and bright in liquid light
Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Speechless Sorrow sat with me
Spirit of “fire and dew
Spirit of song, whose shining wings have borne
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
Spring came with tiny lances thrusting
Spruce Macaronis, and pretty to see
Stand! the ground’s your own, my braves!
Star-dust and vaporous light
Star of the North! though night winds drift
Stars of the summer night!
Stern be the pilot in the dreadful hour
Still as I move thou movest
Still sits the school-house by the road
Still thirteen years: ’t is autumn now
Still though the one I sing
Stop on the Appian Way
Strain, strain thine eyes, this parting is for aye!
Strong in thy steadfast purpose, be
St. Stephen’s cloistered hall was proud
Such hints as untaught Nature yields!
Such is the death the soldier dies
Such natural debts of love our Oxford knows
Such times as windy moods do stir
Sullen and dull, in the September day
Summer is fading; the broad leaves that grew
Superb and sole, upon a plumëd spray
Sure and exact,—the master’s quiet touch
Sweet bell of Stratford, tolling slow
Sweet-breathed and young
Sweet child of April, I have found thy place
Sweetest of all childlike dreams
Sweet eyes by sorrow still unwet
Sweet little maid with winsome eyes
Sweet names, the rosary of my evening prayer
Sweet Robin, I have heard them say
Sweet saint! whose rising dawned upon the sight
Sweet, sweet, sweet
Sweet wooded way in life, forgetful Sleep!
Sweet World, if you will hear me now
Swept by the hot wind, stark, untrackable
Swift across the palace floor
Swift o’er the sunny grass
Swift, through some trap mine eyes have never found
Swords crossed,—but not in strife!
 
Take all of me,—I am thine own, heart, soul
Tall, sombre, grim, against the morning sky
Tameless in his stately pride, along the lake of islands
Teach me the secret of thy loveliness
Tell me not, in mournful numbers
Tell me what sail the seas
Tell me, wide wandering soul, in all thy quest
Thank God that shall judge my soul, not man!
Thanksgiving to the gods!
That face which no man ever saw
That night I think that no one slept
That sovereign thought obscured? That vision clear
That year? Yes, doubtless I remember still
The Actor’s dead, and memory alone
The Angel came by night
The autumn seems to cry for thee
The autumn time is with us. Its approach
The banquet-cups, of many a hue and shape
The bearded grass waves in the summer breeze
The Beautiful, which mocked his fond pursuing
The beauty of the northern dawns
The bees in the clover are making honey, and I am making my hay
The birds have hid, the winds are low
The birds their love-notes warble
The blackcaps pipe among the reeds
The brave young city by the Balboa seas
The bright sea washed beneath her feet
The cactus towers, straight and tall
The cold blast at the casement beats
The colonel rode by his picket-line
The countless stars, which to our human eye
The crocuses in the Square
The day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep
The day unfolds like a lotus bloom
The despot’s heel is on thy shore
The dew is on the heather
The dirge is sung, the ritual said
The dragon-fly and I together
The ducats take! I ’ll sign the bond to-day
The eagle, did ye see him fall?
The eagle of the armies of the West
The earth seems a desolate mother
Thee finds me in the garden, Hannah
The fair Pamela came to town
The faithful helm commands the keel
The fields were silent, and the woodland drear
The fifth from the north wall
The fire upon the hearth is low
The flying sea-bird mocked the floating dulse
The folk who lived in Shakespeare’s day
The fresh, bright bloom of the daffodils
The garden beds I wandered by
The garden within was shaded
The general dashed along the road
The ghosts of flowers went sailing
The golden-robin came to build his nest
The grandeur of this earthly round
The grass hung wet on Rydal banks
The grass of fifty Aprils hath waved green
The gray waves rock against the gray skyline
The great Republic goes to war
The Grecian Muse, to earth who bore
The groves were God’s first temples. Ere man learned
The half-world’s width divides us; where she sits
The handful here, that once was Mary’s earth
The hand that swept the sounding lyre
The heart soars up like a bird
The heavens are our riddle; and the sea
The heavy mists have crept away
The hours I spent with thee, dear heart
The imperial boy had fallen in his pride
The innocent, sweet Day is dead
The knell that dooms the voiceless and obscure
The knightliest of the knightly race
The life of man
The light of spring
The light that fills thy house at morn
The little gate was reached at last
The little toy dog is covered with dust
The long, gray moss that softly swings
The love of man and woman is as fire
The man in righteousness arrayed
The man that joins in life’s career
The man who frets at worldly strife
The May sun sheds an amber light
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year
The mill goes toiling slowly around
The monarch sat on his judgment-seat
The moonbeams over Arno’s vale in silver flood were pouring
The moon has left the sky
The morning is cheery, my boys, arouse!
The mother-heart doth yearn at eventide
The muffled drum’s sad roll has beat
The Muses wrapped in mysteries of light
The name thou wearest does thee grievous wrong
The new moon hung in the sky
The news! our morning, noon, evening cry
The night that has no star lit up by God
The night was dark and fearful
The night was thick and hazy
Then saw I, with gray eyes fulfilled of rest
The old wine filled him, and he saw, with eyes
The osprey sails above the sound
The Past walks here, noiseless, unasked, alone
The Pilgrim Fathers,—where are they?
The play was done
The poet’s secret I must know
The promise of these fragrant flowers
The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church
The quarry whence thy form majestic sprung
The Queen sat in her balcony
There are gains for all our losses
There are gains for all our losses
There are harps that complain to the presence of night
There are one or two things I should just like to hint
There are some quiet ways
There, as she sewed, came floating through her head
There be many kinds of parting—yes, I know
There came to port last Sunday night
The red rose whispers of passion
There in his room, whene’er the moon looks in
There is a city, builded by no hand
There is a clouded city, gone to rest
There is an hour of peaceful rest
There is a race from eld descent
There is a sound I would not hear
There is no dearer lover of lost hours
There is no rhyme that is half so sweet
There! little girl, don’t cry!
There’s a song in the air!
There’s beauty in the deep
There smiled the smooth Divine, unused to wound
There ’s not a breath the dewy leaves to stir
There’s something in a noble boy
There stood an unsold captive in the mart
There was a captain-general who ruled in Vera Cruz
There was a gay maiden lived down by the mill
There was a land where lived no violets
There was a man who watched the river flow
There was a rose-tree grew so high
There was a rover from a western shore
There was a time when Death and I
The rising moon has hid the stars
The river widens to a pathless sea
The road is left that once was trod
The Rose aloft in sunny air
The roses of yesteryear
The royal feast was done; the King
The ruddy poppies bend and bow
The Saviour, bowed beneath his cross, climbed up the dreary hill
The scarlet tide of summer’s life
The sea-bound landsman, looking back to shore
These are my scales to weigh reality
These lands are clothed in burning weather
The shadows lay along Broadway
The shapes that frowned before the eyes
The skies are low, the winds are slow
The skies they were ashen and sober
The skilful listener, he, methinks, may hear
The snow had begun in the gloaming
The song-birds? are they flown away?
The soul of the world is abroad to-night
The south-wind brings
The sparrow told it to the robin
The speckled sky is dim with snow
The spinner twisted her slender thread
The Spirit of Earth with still, restoring hands
The spring came earlier on
The stars know a secret
The sudden thrust of speech is no mean test
The sun comes up and the sun goes down
The sun had set
The sun has kissed the violet sea
The sun is sinking over hill and sea
The Sun looked from his everlasting skies
The sun set, but set not his hope
The sunshine of thine eyes
The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home
The swallow is flying over
The tide rises, the tide falls
The tide slips up the silver sand
The time is come to speak, I think
The town of Hay is far away
The trembling train clings to the leaning wall
The trump hath blown
The turtle on yon withered bough
The twilight hours like birds flew by
The vicomte is wearing a brow of gloom
The village sleeps, a name unknown, till men
The voice of England is a trumpet tone
The wakening bugles cut the night
The wars we wage
The water sings along our keel
The waves forever move
The wayfarer
The weather-leech of the topsail shivers
The whelp that nipped its mother’s dug in turning from her breast
The wilderness a secret keeps
The wild geese, flying in the night, behold
The Willis are out to-night
The wind blows wild on Bos’n Hill
The wind exultant swept
The wind of Hampstead Heath still burns my cheek
The winds have talked with him confidingly
The wintry blast goes wailing by
The wise forget, dear heart
The word of God to Leyden came
The wreath that star-crowned Shelley gave

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