Ask ye me why I send you here? A slumber did my spirit seal As Memnon's marble harp, renowned of old As ships becalmed at eve As unto blowing roses summer dews As vonce I valked by a dismal svamp A sweet, attractive kind of grace A sweet disorder in the dress At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay At summer eve, when Heaven's aërial bow At the approach of extreme peril. At the King's gate the subtle noon WORDSWORTH SCOTT COLERIDGE LOWELL W. ALLINGHAM LONGFELLOW BRYANT PAGE 326 158 274 122 270 442 198 W. BLAKE 29 BROWNING 282 CHARLES SPRAGUE 225 WORDSWORTH 221 73 237 198 158 502 Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints whose bones MILTON TENNYSON COWLEY Bankrupt, our pockets inside out Being asked by an intimate party Beneath an Indian palm, a girl Below the bottom of the great abyss. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father Between the dark and the daylight Blackened and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone Blue crystal vault and elemental fires Break, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bridė But all our praises, why should lords engross But are ye sure the news is true? But fare you weel, auld Nickie-Ben. But for ye speken of such gentilesse But I wol turn againe to Ariadne But souls that of his own good life partake Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin Calm and still light on yon great plain Come on, come on, and where you go Come on, sir, here's the place: stand still Come pitie us, all ye who see Come seeling night. Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged Come thou who art the wine and wit Far have I clambered in my mind Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn Go, soul, the body's guest Grandmother's mother; her age I guess Great Ocean! strongest of Creation's sons Hail to the chief who in triumph advances Happy those early days when I Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings Hath this world without me wrought? Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay? Hearken in your ear He clasps the crag with hooked hands He is gone - is dust He is gone on the mountains. He leaves the earth, and says enough Hence, all you vain delights! Hence, loathed melancholy! Hence, vain deluding joys! Here is the place; right over the hill Here let us live, and spend away our lives Her fingers shame the ivory keys Her finger was so small the ring Her house is all of echo made He's a rare man He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn He that loves a rosy cheek He works in rings, in magic rings of chance Hope smiled when your nativity was cast How changed is here each place man makes or fills! How many a time have I How many thousand of my poorest subjects How oft when thou my music, music play'st How they go by, those strange and dreamlike men! How young and fresh am I to-night! I am holy while I stand I called on dreams and visions to disclose I came to a laund of white and green BYRON SHAKSPEARE BYRON MILTON SHAKSPEARE |