Index of First Lines

A bird sang sweet and strong

Ah! sad are they who know not love

Ah, be not false, sweet Splendor!

Alas! our pleasant moments fly

A life on the ocean wave

A little peach in the orchard grew

All day to watch the blue wave curl and break

All quiet along the Potomac, they say

All within and all without me

Along A River-Side, I Know Not Where

Along the banks where Babel’s current flows

A mile behind is Gloucester town

A mist was driving down the British Channel

And how could you dream of meeting?

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay

At dawn, he said, I bid them all farewell

A thousand silent years ago

At midnight, in his guarded tent

A very remarkable history this is

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight

Beautiful! Sir, you may say so. Thar is n’t her match in the county

Before the solemn bronze Saint Gaudens made

Beneath the warrior’s helm, behold

Beside a stricken field I stood

Birds against the April wind

Boy, I detest the Persian pomp

Burly, dozing humble-bee

By the rude bridge that arched the flood

Calm as that second summer which precedes

Come, let us plant the apple-tree

Come, stack arms, men; pile on the rails

Cooper, whose name is with his country’s woven

Could we but know

Darkest, strangest mystery

Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days

Day is done, and the darkness

Dear wife, last midnight, whilst I read

Dearest, a look is but a ray

Despot’s heel is on thy shore

Do I like it? I think it just splendid!

Down the world with Marna!

Dow’s Flat. That ‘s its name

Eighty years have passed, and more

Finding Francesca full of tears, I said

For these white arms about my neck

Friend, whose smile has come to be

Gently, Lord, oh, gently lead us

Gingham dog and the calico cat

Give me a pen of steel!

Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven

God bless the man who first invented sleep!

God makes sech nights, all white an’ still

Gone before us, O our brother

Good-night! I have to say good-night

Green be the turf above thee

Groves were God’s first temples. Ere man learned

Guvener B. is a sensible man

Hail to the brightness of Zion’s glad morning

Handful here, that once was Mary’s earth

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay

Have you not heard the poets tell

Hear the sledges with the bells

Helen, thy beauty is to me

Here falls no light of sun nor stars

Here, Charmian, take my bracelets

He speaks not well who doth his time deplore

High walls and huge the body may confine

Home of the Percys’ high-born race

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps

I am a woman—therefore I may not

I am dying, Egypt, dying!

I am fevered with the sunset

I am old and blind!

I burn no incense, hang no wreath

I expect you in September

I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone

If I were very sure

If the red slayer think he slays

I gazed upon the glorious sky

I have ships that went to sea

I know what you ‘re going to say, she said

I like a church; I like a cowl

I loved thee long and dearly

I love the old melodious lays

I love thy kingdom, Lord

I love to steal awhile away

I must leave thee, lady sweet!

In fallow college days, Tom Harland

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes

In the greenest of our valleys

In their ragged regimentals

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadowlands

Into the Silent Land!

I pray that, risen from the dead

I pray you, do not turn your head

I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James

I saw him once before

I see all human wits

I stand in the cold gray weather

I stood by the open casement

I take my chaperon to the play

It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side

It was many and many a year ago

It was the autumn of the year!

Just where the Treasury’s marble front

Keep me, I pray, in wisdom’s way

Lend me thy fillet, Love!

Let me move slowly through the street

Little gate was reached at last

Long has the summer sunlight shone

Look out upon the stars, my love

Lo! ‘t is a gala night

Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes

Master of human destinies am I!

Maud Muller, on a summer’s day

Melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord

Miss Blank—at Blank. Jemima, let it go!

Miss Flora M’Flimsey, of Madison Square

Mother of God! as evening falls

Mountain and the squirrel

Muffled drum’s sad roll has beat

My aunt! my dear unmarried aunt!

My coachman, in the moonlight there

My faith looks up to Thee

My lady has a tea-gown

Mynheer Hans Von Der Bloom has got

My tower was grimly builded

Nay, weep not, dearest, though the child be dead

Night is dark, and the winter winds

Night was black and drear

Not from the whole wide world I chose thee

Now for a brisk and cheerful fight!

Now, by the blessed Paphian queen

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done

O City that is not a city, unworthy the prefix Atlantic

O days endeared to every Muse

O fair and stately maid, whose eyes

Often I think of the beautiful town

Often when the night is come

Oh, how shall I help to right the world that is going wrong!

Oh mother of a mighty race

Oh, tell me less or tell me more

Oh, what ‘s the way to Arcady

Old wine to drink!

O listen to the sounding sea

Olor Iscanus queries: “Why should we

O, moonlight deep and tender

O Mother Earth! upon thy lap

Once this soft turf, this rivulet’s sands

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary

One sweetly solemn thought

O say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light

Our band is few but true and tried

Our vales are sweet with fern and rose

Out of the hills of Habersham

Over the river, on the hill

Over the river they beckon to me

Pharaoh, King of Egypt’s land

Pines were dark on Ramoth hill

Poor lone Hannah

Qui vive! The sentry’s musket rings

Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot

Rising moon has hid the stars

Rocked in the cradle of the deep

Royal feast was done; the King

Say there! P’r’aps

See, from this counterfeit of him

Shades of night were falling fast

Shadows lay along Broadway

She might have known it in the earlier Spring

She was a beauty in the days

Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen

Short and sweet, and we ‘ve come to the end of it

Since, if you stood by my side to-day

Sing again the song you sung

Sir Orpheus, whom the poets have sung

Skies they were ashen and sober

Sleep sweetly in your humble graves

Slowly the mist o’er the meadow was creeping

So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn

Softly now the light of day

Some of the hurts you have cured

So that soldierly legend is still on its journey

Southrons, hear your Country call you!

Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!

Stand here by my side and turn, I pray

Star-dust and vaporous light

Still her gray rocks tower above the sea

Still thirteen years: ‘t is autumn now

Sun stepped down from his golden throne

Tell me not, in mournful numbers

T is said that the gods, on Olympus of old

That year? Yes, doubtless I remember still

There are gains for all our losses

There are three ways in which men take

There is a city, builded by no hand

There is an hour of peaceful rest

There is no escape by the river

There is no flock, however watched and tended

They may talk of love in a cottage

They sat and comb’d their beautiful hair

This ancient silver bowl of mine,—it tells of good old times

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign

Those black eyes I once so praised

Thou unrelenting Past!

Thou wast all that to me, love

Though love repine, and reason chafe

Three years ago, to-day

Tis fifteen hundred years, you say

To clothe the fiery thought

To him who in the love of Nature holds

To horse, my dear, and out into the night!

To what new fates, my country, far

Under a spreading chestnut tree

Up from the meadows rich with corn

Up from the South at break of day

Up the streets of Aberdeen

Up to her chamber window

Wall, no! I can’t tell whar he lives

Weak-winged is song

Weary, oh, so weary

Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms

We break the glass, whose sacred wine

We count the broken lyres that rest

Well, Helen, quite two years have flown

Well, Miss, I wonder where you live

Were it not for that singular smell

We sing “Our Country’s” song to-night

We were not many—we who stood

What shall we do now, Mary being dead

What spiteful chance steals unawares

What was it the Engines said

Wheel me down by the meadow

When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth’s aching breast

When descends on the Atlantic

When Freedom from her mountain height

When I was a boy at college

When I was broke in London in the fall of ’89

When the hours of Day are numbered

When the veil from the eyes is lifted

When to any saint I pray

When, full of warm and eager love

Which I wish to remark

Whither, midst falling dew

Wild rose of Alloway! my thanks

Within the garden of Beaucaire

Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies

You say you love me, and you lay