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23, 211, 259, 411
72, 219, 262, 447
10, 175, 347, 134
LAVELY, L. B.
LEWIS, ALICE B.
LONG, DANIEL ALBRIGHT
LORD, WILLIAM S.
McCANN, JOHN ERNEST
MCINTYRE, Rev. ROBERT
MAHANY, ROWLAND B.
MICHEL, NETTIE LEILA
MILBURN, Rev. WILLIAM HENRY
Moore, CHARLES L.
MOULTON, CHARLES WELLS
MURRAY, JOHN CLARK
Nash, MARY E.
NEVIN, W. CHANNING
OVERALL, JOHN W.
OXLEY, J. MACDONALD
PADEN, MAMIE S.
PHILLIPS, RYAL J.
Piatt, JOHN JAMES
PICKARD, S. T.
RANDALL, JAMES RYDER
RIDEING, WILLIAM H.
ROBERTS, CHARLES G. D.
Roche, JAMES JEFFREY
ROGERS, REV. CHARLES
Rose, W. R.
SCOTT, D. C.
SMITH, Eva MUNSON
STODDARD, CHARLES WARREN
Tutin, J. R.
WETHERELL, MARY E.
WILLIAMS, FRANCIS HOWARD
WOODBURY, CHARLES J.
YEATS, W. B.
A beaten and a baffled man.
A beggar died last night.
A bivalve feeding in the warm salt sea.
About this little room of mine.
Across the trackless skies.
A cup of coffee, eggs, and rolls.
A damp gray blanket hides.
A dew-drop in a lily's cup.
A fiery young world, in far voids of sky.
A flower! a flower!
A gnarled and massive oak log.
Ah, my beloved! my best is all your due.
A hopeless, heartless human life.
Ah, Poet, you are out of date.
A human friend was granted unto me.
A journeying to Emmaus.
A keen, insistent hint of dawn.
A kindly look, a word of commendation.
A lark's song dropped from heaven.
A little elbow leans upon your knee.
A little way below her chin.
All books that for Love's sake are ever
All day, like smiles that wreathe.
All day the Princess ran away:
All day through the valley of Ajalon flowed.
All that long, mad March day.
All the children come to me.
All through the sultry evening hours.
All things are shadows of thee, Lord.
All things that we can hear or see.
Almighty Framer of the skies.
Alone she bears the mystic flame.
Along the waste, a great way off.
Always with me! always with me!
A man can build a mansion.
Among the priceless gems and treasures
Among the thousand, thousand spheres
An Attic girl with garlands on her hair.
And I said, "She is dead, I could not brook.”
And you, ye glittering hosts.
An eddying speck the swallow fies.
Angel faces watch my pillow.
A Painter quickly seized his brush.
A pillowed head on the cold, cold clay.
A printer and his proof this thought sugo
A rondlet is just a pulse of summer song.
A rondlet is just seven verses.
A satyr with weird look.
As Cupid, on a summer's day.
A sea-cliff carved into a base-relief!
A sea of blossoms, golden as the glow.
A sentinel angel sitting high in glory.
A soft-breasted bird from the sea.
As one who, mid the wintry surge.
A song for the girl I love.
A song welled up in the singer's heart.
A sower went forth to sow.
As Perseus ere he tried the unknown seas.
A star came falling from the sky.
As the day's last light is dying.
As thoughts possess the fashion of the mood.
A sudden strange unfolding.
As when the imperial bird wide-circling.
A tender morn for thee.
At milking time, when shadows climb.
At Naishapur his ashes lie.
At Nebra, by the Unstrut.
A tree is blossoming in some distant grove.
A twilight star that rests above the steep.
Autumn with the rush of the storm.
Awake, awake! Nay, slumber not.
Awake, O lyre! thy tender rhythmic throng.
A wee bit raggit laddie.
A welcome would I give thee, new-born
A white sail gleamed across the bay.
A word, and all a heart.
A world of radiant roses iar and wide.
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your
Beautiful woman, thou art.
Before the beginning of years.
Behold him! How his great heart glows.
Be like the sun, that pours its ray.
Beneath the mild sun vanish.
Beside the glowing flames we sat.
Be strong, O soul! The morning breaketh
Be there a traitor who deserves in sooth.
Be to every man just, -and to Woman.
Better to smell the violet cool.
Beyond the edge of the mountain.
Beyond the mountains' dusky mass,
Blessed is he who hath not trod the ways..
Bless my heart! You're come at last.
Blow, blow, ye trumpets, blow,
Blow, freely blow.
Blue hills beneath the haze.
Bold March! Wild March.
Breathing the summer-scented air.
Bring the rod, the line, the reel.
Broad wave on wave of scarlet.
Burly and big his books among.
Bursts from a rending East in flaws.
But one short week ago the trees were bare.
By Nebo's lonely mountain.
By silent forest and field and mossy stone.
By the city dead-house by the gate.
By the dark and silent river.
By the moon's pale light.
By ways of dreaming and doing.
Can aught into the Innermost intrude.
Cast first the World.
Chaste pilot of the dawn.
Come my tan-faced children.
Come out and hear the waters shoot.
Come over, come over the waters so dark.
Come,” said her voice.
Come up hither! come away!"
Crude, pompous, turgid," the reviewers
Dare not to tell me I have lost thee.
Dark night her tent once more unfurled.
Daughters of Eve! Your mother did not
Day follows day; years perish.
Dear brother, thou who grandly didst aspire.
Death solves the doubt.
Didst thou rejoice because the day was fair.
Dost deem him weak who owns.
Dost thou not know God's country.
Do you know you have asked for the cost-
Do you remember me, my glorified.
Down by the salley gardens:
Dream not I hold too dear.
Drecker, a drawbridge keeper opened wide.
Dwell not too long with solitude.
Each day when the glow of sunset.
Each moment holy is.
Each on his own strict line we move.
Each year I mark one lone outstanding tree.
E'en while I sing, see Faction urge her
Engender beauty in the realm of thought.
England's sun was slowly setting.
Ensigns of empires flaunt thy flanking wall.
Ere country ways had turned to street.
Fair young mother, with children three.
Far hence amid an isle of wondrous beauty.
Far nobler the sword that is nicked and
Hark! the owlet flaps his wings.
Hark! to the voice which cries.
Haste not, halt not; it will go.
Have you seen an apple orchard in the
Have you seen Pan? I heard him pipe.
Hawk or shrike has done this deed.
Heaven's fairest star.
He falters on the threshold.
He has taken the vow of poverty.
He is not alone an artist weak and white.
Helen, thy beauty is to me.
He loved two women: one whose soul was
He placed a rose in my nut-brown hair.
Her china cup is white and thin.
Her eyes are bright as bright can be
Here is a breathing time.
Here lived the slayer, and there the slain.
Her face was very fair to see.
Her hair is the gold-brown of chestnuts.
Her hair was a waving bronze.
Her heart, her mind, her voice.
He rides away at early light.
Her robes are of purple and scarlet.
Her song but savored of despair.
He's a rude fellow. When I meet him he.
He the great World-Musician at whose
He walks with God upon the hills.
He was coming from the altar.
He wed my sister yesterday! Ah, me!
He who had marred my life in cruel wise.
Hills to the North! where a slumbering lion.
His spirit is in apogee!
How bright and beautiful are the flowers.
How calmly she sleeps in the grave.
How cracked and poor his laughter rings.
How does a woman love? Once, no more.
How doth he shelter them, His birds.
How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly.
How shall I breathe to thee.
How still she lies!
How they are provided for,
How tired! Eight hours of racking work.
How sweet I roamed from field to field.
How sweet the manger smells.
I am a woman-therefore I may not.
I am silent to-night in the basement dim.
I am the impof stone that squats and leers.
I am the key that parts the gates of fame.
I came between the glad green hills.
I could not choose but gaze..
I don't go much on religion.
I'd rather live in Bohemia.
I envy those sweet souls that walk serenely.
If any one can tell.
I feel no need of Nature's flowers.
If I had known in the morning.
If men cared less for wealth and fame.
If only 'twere not Christmas Eve.
If, sitting with this little worn-out shoe.
If there be any good.
If this now silent harp could wake.
If thou art a poet-son of God.
If thou canst make the frost be gone.
If we had parted that first night.
If we knew the baby fingers.
I had a beautiful garment.
Fetch on your scissors, your slender blade.
First I tried to live on faith.
Flow on, noble rivers! flow on.
Fluting and sighing, with young locks
“ Fly to the mountain, fly!"
Forgive! forgive! this burning tear.
For the hopes that were wrecked.
For those who think life's common thought.
For years in towering stateliness I stood.
Friend! when you felt the baleful.
From far a-field the cows are coming home.
From night to night.
From Shasta town to Redding town.
From the madding crowd they stand apart.
From the noisome garrets and cellars.
Full moody is my love and sad.
Full oft, O Venus! heaven's dearest star.
Full slow to part with her best gifts is Fate.
Give me a theme,” the little poet cried.
God send me tears!
Going out to fame and triumph.
Golden and russet and golden.
Golden rod! in autumn splendor.
Good day!” cried one who drove to West.
Grant me, O God! the glory of gray hairs.
Had I the choice to tally greatest bards.
Hail to the North! hail to the South!
Hair as silk of corn sun-kissed.
Half god, half brute, within the self-same
Happy the man, whose wish and care.
Hark, ah, the nightingale.
Hark! is 't thy step, New Year ?
I had a vision of mankind to be.
I had been buried a month and a year. 287
I have been an acolyte.
I have ships that went to sea.
I heard the city time-bells call.
I know that the world.
lay my fingers on Time's wrist to score.
I listen to the plashing of the lake.
I live for those who love me.
I'll seek him yet: in some warm nook.
I love to watch them, trickling on the floor.
I may not speak in words, dear.
I met a traveller on the road.
I met her Easter morning.
I mourn the gem I might have had.
Imperial bloom, whose every curve we see. 320
Imperious on her ebon throne.
I passed along the water's edge.
"I'm sorry, and I hurried back.”
I'm weary of gazing into the dark.
In a strong tower that fronts a stormy sea. 461
In days to come we plan good deeds.
In dead, dull days I heard a surging cry.
In dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships.
In dreams I found a wondrous land.
In dreary, ceaseless monotone.
In fallow fields I long to lie.
In Lyons, in the mart of that French town. 71
In no more fitting place could we have met.
In September the land grows gold.
In sorrow once there came to me.
In streets, amid the city signs.
In the dark and narrow street.
In the dark Gethesmane.
In the days o' langsyne.
In the depths of untold sorrow.
In the gray beech shadows.
In the Kingdom of the Blind.
In the shadows I'm sitting.
In the slimy bed of a sluggish mere.
In the twilight, in his sanctum, sat the editor
Into the night, the odorous summer night.
Into the town of Conemaugh.
Into the ward of the white-washed walls. 239
I plucked a rose at eventide.
I really am obliged to you.
I remember when I was a boy.
I said, if I might go back again.
I saw a bright and peaceful scene.
I saw a snowflake in the air.
I saw a wonderful sight.
I saw in dreams a dim bleak heath.
I saw the young Morn in her beauty unfold-
I see a young Lieutenant, fresh from books.
I send no greeting; I do not even feel.
I strayed from the bower of the roses.
It fell at night upon a rocking world.
It happened one day up in Heaven.
I think, oftimes, that lives of men may be.
It is better to die, since death comes surely.
It isn't a scrumptuous thing to see.
It isn't the thing you do dear.
It is the starry hush of night.
It is well that we sink in the Lethean wave.
It must be sweet, O thou, my dead.
It's O my heart, my heart.
I tread the stones of Manhattan.
It was a nuptial of the dead.
It was a small and foolish child.
It was but yesterday I saw his sheep.
It was the fair, white season of first snow.
I walked afield one morn in late November.
I was loung'n' amongst m' pillows.
I watch you in your crystal sphere.
I well remember how, a girl.
I will be glad to-day; the sun.
I will be still.
I woke and heard the thrushes sing.
I worshipped her in such devout, strong
I would not lose a single silvery ray.
Joys have three stages.
Joy stood upon my threshold, mild and fair.
Keep holy watch with silence.
Last night returning from my twilight walk.
Last year I knew naught of thee.
Late at night I saw the Shepherd.
Lay a laurel on his coffin, and a sword.
Leaf by leaf the roses fall.
Leona, the hour draws nigh.
Let him alone. He would make pure the
Let Shakespeare hold the mirror up to
Let's sing of the Maple.
Let the plover pipe, to his mate.
Let us take to our hearts a lesson.
Life brings no burden to be borne.
Life's morning lies behind.
Life's whirl and din!
Light, and the fading of night.
Light at its full of the harvest moon.
Like Joseph's coat his tattered raiment
Like the flakes of the snow.
Like the love-bringing wind when it goes.
Like waves which once have kissed the
Listen to the tawny thief.
Little drops of water.
Lo! here I stand all trembling and dig.
Long years ago he bore to a land beyond
Long years within its sepulchre.
“Look up,—not down.'
Lord, for the erring thought.
Love has wings as light as a bird.
Love is fire in air.
Love is the centre and circumference.
Love laid down his golden head.
Love me not, Love, for that I first loved thee
Love, that thou lov'st me not.
Lo, wounded of the world.
Lyrist of woods and waters, loving best.
Many a bud enfolds a hue.
May peace with thee abide.
Melpomene among her livid people.
Mild offering of a dark and sullen sire.
Milton! thou Titan of the epic song.
Moan, ye wind, moan, oh moan.
My blessed wife! (and may her kind in-
My brave lad he sleeps in his faded coat
My Fred! I can't understand it."
My friend he was; my friend from all the
My heart a haunted manor, where Time.
My horse's feet beside the lake.
My lot grew lighter day by day.
My soul desires to live.
My soul to-day is far away.
Nation of sun and sin.
Near, near, so near.
Near strange, weird temples.
No battle note or pomp of arms reversed.
No door so thick, no bolt so strong.
No, I will not say good-by.
Norroway hills are grand to see.
No song of a soldier riding down.
Not from the whole wide world I choose
Not on seas of wild commotion,
Not solitarily in fields we find.
Not where long past ages sleep.
Now do I know that Love is blind.
No wind, no bird. The river flames like
Now Westward Sol had spent the richest
Now Winter is fighting his battles.
O Babylon; O Babylon.
O beautiful, stately ships.
O Beauty, Beauty, thou wilt drive me mad.
O Captain! my Captain!
O fairest maid of rarest days.
O Fancy, if thou flyest, come back anon.
Of me and of my theme think what thou
O golden rod! sweet golden rod!
Oh are the heavens clear, ye say.
Oh earth, oh dewy mother, breath on us.
Oh, if the world were mine, Love.
O highest, strongest, sweetest woman-soul.
Oh, Ireland, my country, the hour.
Oh, how shall I help to right the world.
Oh, my laddie, my laddie.
Oh! what has caused my killing miseries..
Oh, what shall I do with them both?
Oh, why left I my hame?
Oh! wild birds sing to me a strain.
O lassie ayont the hill.
Old friends and dear, it were ungentle
let me live with those dear souls.
O Love-star of the unbeloved March.
O man with your rule and measure.
On a green, mossy bank.
On all the outer world, a holy hush.
Once, as I pondered o'er stranger books.
Once before, this self-same air.
Once in an English woodland.
Once looking from a window on a land.
Once on my mother's breast, a child, I
One by one, o'er a dreamer's face.
One drop of this, and she will not know.
One night, as old Saint Peter slept.
One of us, love, must stand.
One questions eagerly, “Can friendship
One stood upon the morning hills and
Only a vine-clad cot by the wayside.
Only a year have thou and I been friends.
Only waiting till the shadows.
On the Rialto Bridge we stand.
On the road; the lonely road.
O Spirit of the Spring, delay, delay.
Ostera! spirit of springtime.
O still, white face of perfect peace.
O that word Regret!
Out of the darkness—whence?
Out on a world that's gone to weed.
Out upon the unknown deep.
Over the Barrington meadows.
Over the hill the farmboy goes.
Over the mountain road.
O what a host of holy recollections.
O white and midnight sky, O starry bath.
O who would dare stand?
O wilderness of worlds! ye stars!
Play on! Play on! As softly glides.
“Poppies," she said and sighed.
Princess Eyebrigh's seventeen,
Quaint city on the Finnish sea.
*Rejoice," said the Sun; “I will make thee
Respect the Future,” which belongs to me.
Rest, heroes rest! all conflicts now are
Return, they cry, ere yet your day.
Rich was the harvest he vow'd to reap.
Sad is our youth, for it is ever going.
Sad is the thought of sunniest days.
Sad mortal couldst thou but know.
Sank a palace in the sea.
Saviour! happy should I be.
“Say not good-bye! dear friend."
Say, what blinds us, that we claim the
Seek not the tree of silkiest bark.
Self-awed with its only glory is the night.
Serene I fold my hands and wait.
Sharp drives the rain.
She came and went, as comes and goes.
She heard the waves creep up the sand.
She is false, O Death, she is fair.
She lay like a rose-leaf on his cup.
She rose in the night and fled.
She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh.
She steers the stars through Heaven's
She stood before a chosen few.
Should your cherished purpose fail.
Sing the old songs amid the sounds dis-
Sitting all day in a silver mist.
Six little feet to cover.
Sleep, my pretty one.
Softly it stole up out of the sea.
Softly, O midnight Hours.
Soft through the shimmering sunshine.
Some gaudy prince has stayed here.
Something lies in the room.
Sometime in the future, I cannot tell
Sometime, when life's lessons.
Somewhere 'tis told that in an Eastern
Soon beyond the harbor bar.
So sweet, so sweet, she sang, is love.
'Speak tenderly! For he is dead," we say.