Page O'er the smooth enamelled green, Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray, O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, Oh! to be in England, O, lady, twine no wreath for me, O luve will venture in where it daurna weel be seen, O Mary! at thy window be, O! my love's like the stedfast sun, . 277 60 278 78 36 222 33 51 182 202 O my luve's like a red, red rose, On a day (alack the day!) Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 194 O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray, O that those lips had language! life has passed, Orpheus with his lute made trees, O Time! who knowest a lenient hand to lay, Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Queen of the silver bow! by thy pale beam, Reach, with your whiter hands, to me, Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Shepherds all, and maidens fair, She stood breast-high amid the corn, She was a Phantom of delight, Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued I said, Silent nymph, with curious eye! Sing his praises that doth keep, Sith gone is my delight and only pleasure, 183 363 362 269 € 262 160 . 319 396 . 281 24 . 324 82 . 157 108 69 37 251 . 270 323 . 302 Sleep breathes at last from out thee, Take, oh, take those lips away, Page 360 94 418 83 180 . 356 91 34 120 Tell me not, in mournful numbers, That day I oft remember, when from sleep, The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard, 256 186 368 447 317 101 The lark has sung his carol in the sky, 22 The lark now leaves his watery nest, 167 The Months all riding came, 331 The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, 141 285 216 12 90 263 There's not a joy the world can give, like that it takes away, 59 There were twa sisters lived in a bouir, 246 These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good, 199 The spring is here-the delicate-footed May, 85 The star that bids the shepherd fold, Page 397 300 254 335 367 192 76 245 204 48 420 291 117 The winds are bitter, the skies are wild, Thorough yon same bending plain, Those lips, that Love's own hands did make, Thou art to all lost love the best, Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, . 293 184 . 398 411 . 275 Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream! "I is from high life, high characters are drawn, 163 . 400 "T is long since we were forced to part, at least it seems so to my grief, 436 To fair Fidele's grassy tomb, To him who in the love of nature holds, To whom belongs this valley fair, "I was at the royal feast, for Persia won, Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green, Underneath this marble hearse, Up from the shore of the placid lake, Vale of the cross, the shepherds tell, 308 344 . 190 421 . 440 146 384 354 206 322 56 Page Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower! 86 128 Wee, sleekit, cowrin', timorous beastie, What beckoning Ghost, along the moonlight shade, 314 290 218 359 15 111 When I consider how my light is spent, 343 When in disgrace, with fortune and men's eyes, 58 When I was a dweller in Cloudland, 18 When love with unconfined wings, 72 When maidens such as Hester die, 43 When May is in his prime, 407 When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 385 When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free, When the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame, . When we for age could neither read nor write, Where the remote Bermudas ride, With fingers weary and worn, With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climbst the skies, Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 't is true, 187 |