The wintry west extends his blast
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
They made her a grave too cold and damp
They told me I was heir: I turned in haste
They that never had the use
Think we King Harry strong.
This ae night, this ae night

This army led by a delicate and tender prince
This bright wood-fire

This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
This knight a doughter hadde by his wif.
This morning, timely rapt with holy fire
Thou art not gone, being gone

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew
Though the day of my destiny's over

Thou hast learned the woes of all the world
Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeannie
Thou hidden love of God! whose height
Thou that art our queen again

Thou that hast a daughter

Thou that hast given so much to me.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!

Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance.
Three days through sapphire seas we sailed
Three poets in three distant ages born

Three score o' nobles rade up the king's ha'
Three years she grew in sun and shower.
Thy braes were bonny, yarrow stream.
Thy voice is heard through rolling drums
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back
Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep.
"Tis madness to resist or blame

'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more
'Tis not every day that I

"Tis not in battles that from youth we train

"Tis truth, although this truth's a star

To be furious

To beguile the time

To be no more- sad cure

To be or not to be, that is the question

To fair Fidele's grassy

tomb

To heroism and holiness

Toiling in the naked fields

To keep the lamp alive

To me men are for what they are.

Toll for the brave.

To the Lords of Convention

True bard and simple, as the race

SCOTT
MOORE.