I have loved flowers that fade

I have sown upon the fields

I heard a linnet courting

I heard great Hector.

I know not how I came

I live on hope

I love all beauteous things

I love my lady's eyes

I made another song

In all things beautiful

In autumn moonlight

I never shall love the snow again

In midmost length of hundred-citied Crete

In still midsummer night

In the golden glade
In thee my spring of life
In this May-month
In this neglected, ruin'd edifice.

•

Man, born of desire
Man, born to toil

Je donnerais pour revivre à vingt ans
Joy, sweetest lifeborn joy

Love on my heart from heaven fell

Love that I know

Love to Love calleth .

Lo where the virgin veilëd in airy beams

Man hath with man

Mortal though I be, yea ephemeral
My bed and pillow are cold

My delight and thy delight
My eyes for beauty pine

My lady pleases me and I please her

Myriad-voiced Queen

My soul is drunk with joy.

My spirit kisseth thine

My spirit sang all day
My wearied heart

No ethical system, no contemplation.

Nothing is joy without thee

Now all the windows
Now in wintry delights
Now joy in all hearts

Now since to me altho' by thee refused

Now thin mists temper

O bold majestic downs

O flesh and blood, comrade to tragic pain .

O golden Sun, whose ray

O heavenly fire, life's life

O Love, I complain

O Love, my muse
O miserable man
O my goddess divine
O my life's mischief

O my uncared-for songs
O my vague desires

Once I would say

One grief of thine

On the Hellenic board of Crete's fair isle

There was no lad handsomer

The saddest place

The sea keeps not the Sabbath day

The sea with melancholy war

•

These grey stones have rung with mirth

These meagre rhymes

The sickness of desire

The very names of things belov'd

The whole world now is but the minister.

The wood is bare

The work is done

The world comes not to an end.

The world still goeth about to shew and hide

They that in play can do the thing they would

They wer' amid the shadows

This world is unto God a work of art

Thou art a poet, Robbie Burns.
Thou didst delight my eyes

Thou dimpled Millicent

Thousand threads of rain

Thou vainly, O Man, self-deceiver

Thus to be humbled

Thus to thy beauty

To me, to me, fair hearted Goddess, come

To my love I whisper

To us, O Queen of sinless grace

Truest-hearted of early friends.
Turn, O return

'Twas on the very day winter took leave

Voyaging northwards

Wanton with long delay

Weep not to-day

We left the city when the summer day
What happy bonds together unite you
What is sweeter than new-mown hay

When men were all asleep
When my love was away.
When parch'd with thirst

When sometimes in an ancient house
When thou didst give thy love to me
When thou, my beloved, diedst
When to my lone soft bed
Wherefore to-night so full of care
Where San Miniato's convent

Where thou art better I too were

While Eros in his chamber hid his tears

While yet we wait for spring

Whither, O splendid ship.

Who builds a ship

Who has not walked upon the shore

Who takes the census of the living dead

Why art thou sad

Why hast thou nothing

Why, O Maker of all

Will Love again awake
Winter was not unkind
With mild eyes agaze

Ye blessed saints
Ye Spartan mothers
Ye thrilled me once