Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.

Index of First Lines

Sabrina fair to Twenty years hence my eyes may grow

Sabrina fair Safe where I cannot die yet Say, crimson Rose and dainty Daffodil Say not the struggle naught availeth Says Tweed to Till Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frown’d Seamen three! What men be ye? Seas are quiet when the winds give o’er Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! See how the flowers, as at parade See the Chariot at hand here of Love See where she sits upon the grassie greene See with what simplicity See yon blithe child that dances in our sight! Sense with keenest edge unusèd Seven weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day? Shall I strew on thee rose or rue or laurel Shall I thus ever long, and be no whit the neare? Shall I, wasting in despair She beat the happy pavèment She dwelt among the untrodden ways She fell away in her first ages spring She is not fair to outward view She knelt upon her brother’s grave She pass’d away like morning dew She ‘s somewhere in the sunlight strong She stood breast-high amid the corn She walks in beauty, like the night She walks—the lady of my delight She was a phantom of delight She was a queen of noble Nature’s crowning She who to Heaven more Heaven doth annex Should auld acquaintance be forgot Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night Since all that I can ever do for thee Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye Since I noo mwore do zee your feäce Since there ‘s no help, come let us kiss and part Sing his praises that doth keep Sing lullaby, as women do Sister, awake! close not your eyes! Sleep, sleep, beauty bright Softly, O midnight Hours! Some vex their souls with jealous pain Soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings So shuts the marigold her leaves Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! So, we’ll go no more a-roving Spacious firmament on high Splendour falls on castle walls Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king Stand close around, ye Stygian set Star that bids the Shepherd fold Stay, O sweet and do not rise! Steer, hither steer your wingèd pines Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! Still do the stars impart their light Still let my tyrants know, I am not doom’d to wear Still to be neat, still to be drest Strange fits of passion have I known Strew on her roses, roses Sublime—invention ever young Sumer is icumen in Summer set lip to earth’s bosom bare Sun descending in the west Sun rises bright in France Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow Sweet are the rosy memories of the lips Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright! Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph that liv’st unseen Sweetest Saviour, if my soul Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers Sweet rois of vertew and of gentilness Sweet Spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train Sweet western wind, whose luck it is Swiftly walk o’er the western wave Take, O take those lips away Tarye no lenger; toward thyn heritage Tell me not of a face that ‘s fair Tell me not what too well I know Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind Tell me where is Fancy bred Thank Heaven! the crisis That time of year thou may’st in me behold That which her slender waist confined That zephyr every year Thee too, modest tressèd maid Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now There ance was a may, and she lo’ed na men There are two births; the one when light There be none of Beauty’s daughters There is a garden in her face There is a Lady sweet and kind There is a mountain and a wood between us There is a silence where hath been no sound There is sweet music here that softer falls There lived a wife at Usher’s well There ‘s a glade in Aghadoe, Aghadoe, Aghadoe There ‘s a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield There ‘s a woman like a dewdrop, she ‘s so purer than the purest There’s not a nook within this solemn Pass There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream There were three ravens sat on a tree There were twa sisters sat in a bour They all were looking for a king They are all gone into the world of light! They are waiting on the shore They flee from me that sometime did me seek They seem’d, to those who saw them meet They that have power to hurt and will do none They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead Thirsty earth soaks up the rain This ae nighte, this ae nighte This hinder yeir I hard be tald This is a spray the Bird clung to This little vault, this narrow room This winter’s weather it waxeth cold Thou art to all lost love the best Though beauty be the mark of praise Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies Three years she grew in sun and shower Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer’d my way Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts Throw away Thy rod Thus the Mayne glideth Thus when the silent grave becomes Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts Thy restless feet now cannot go Thy soul within such silent pomp did keep Tiger, tiger, burning bright Time is the feather’d thing Tis a dull sight To all you ladies now at land To-day, all day, I rode upon the down To fair Fidele’s grassy tomb To live within a cave—it is most good To me, fair friend, you never can be old To mute and to material things To my true king I offer’d free from stain To-night retired, the queen of heaven Too late for love, too late for joy Too solemn for day, too sweet for night Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles To the Ocean now I fly To these whom death again did wed True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank Trust thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet? Twas on a lofty vase’s side ‘Twas the dream of a God Twentieth year is wellnigh past Twenty years hence my eyes may grow