'Tis to yourself I speak; you cannot know, 174. 'Tis true, one half of woman's life is hope, 330. To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o'er To him who in the love of Nature holds, 53. To spring belongs the violet, and the blown, Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and To stand within a gently gliding boat, 632. To the quick brow Fame grudges her best To the sea-shells' spiral round, 379, To tremble, when I touch her hands, 591. Turn out more ale, turn up the light, 342. Turn with me from the city's clamorous street, Tuscan, that wanderest through the realms of 'T was one of the charmed days, 95. 'T was summer, and the spot a cool retreat, 168. Two angels came through the gate of Heaven, Two armies covered hill and plain, 264. Two things there are with Memory will abide, Tying her bonnet under her chin, 424. Unconquerably, men venture on the quest, 647. Under the apple bough, 537. Under the roots of the roses, 285. Under the shadows of a cliff, 670. Under the slanting light of the yellow sun of Under the violets, blue and sweet, 198. 761. Unnoted as the setting of a star, 141. Untrammelled Giant of the West, 773. Upon my mantel-piece they stand, 743. Vengeful across the cold November moors, 728. Very dark the autumn sky, 697. Wake, Israel, wake! Recall to-day, 519. Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight Way down upon de Swanee Ribber, 288. We are but two- the others sleep, 51. We are our fathers' sons: let those who lead us We are the Ancient People, 398. We are two travellers, Roger and I, 292. Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms, 221. We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so We lay us down to sleep, 357. Well, yes, sir, that am a comical name, 55. Were I transported to some distant star, 672. We were boys together, 82. We were not many we who stood, 110. We were twin brothers, tall and hale, 485. What, are you hurt, Sweet? So am I, 521. What can console for a dead world? 411. What care I, what cares he, 452. What domes and pinnacles of mist and fire, 476. What dost thou here, 553. What! dost thou pray that the outgone tide be rolled back on the strand, 575. What end the gods may have ordained for me, 530. What fragrant-footed comer, 648. What great yoked brutes with briskets low, 428. What has become of the good ship Kite, 757. What if the Soul her real life elsewhere holds, 574. What is a sonnet? 'Tis the pearly shell, 476. "What is it to be dead? O Life, 582. What is the little one thinking about? 234. What is there wanting in the Spring? 550. What man is there so bold that he should say, 395. What! Roses on thy tomb and was there then, 674. What seek'st thou at this madman's pace? 606. What shall her silence keep, 711. What shall we do now, Mary being dead, 238. What shall we mourn? For the prostrate tree that sheltered the young greenwood? 480. What's love, when the most is said? The flash of the lightning fleet, 449. What songs found voice upon those lips, 495. What strength! what strife! what rude unrest! 427. What then, what if my lips do burn, 510. What was my dream? Though consciousness be clear, 430. What, what, what, 473. What will you give to a barefoot lass, 648. What wondrous sermons these seas preach to men! 736. When almond buds unclose, 629. When April rains make flowers bloom, 544. When calm is the night, and the stars shine bright, 15. Whence come ye, Cherubs? from the moon? 22. When Dorothy and I took tea, we sat upon the floor, 625. When dreaming kings, at odds with swift-paced time, 660. Whenever a little child is born, 587. When Freedom from her mountain height, 46. When from the gloom of earth we see the sky, 413. When from the vaulted wonder of the sky, 443. When I am standing on a mountain crest, 705. When I consider Life and its few years, 610. When I forth fare beyond this narrow earth, 541. When I'm in health and asked to choose, 753. When in my walks I meet some ruddy lad, 200. When in the first great hour of sleep supreme, 576. When in thy glass thou studiest thy face, 465. When Psyche's friend becomes her lover, 449. 559. When souls that have put off their mortal gear, 416. When stars pursue their solemn flight, 354. When the rose is brightest, 106. When wintry days are dark and drear, 488. When youth was lord of my unchallenged fate, 311. Where all the winds were tranquil, 619. Wherefore these revels that my dull eyes greet? 445. Where Helen comes, as falls the dew, 718. Where Helen sits, the darkness is so deep, 525. Where Hudson's wave o'er silvery sands, 83. Where in its old historic splendor stands, 755. Where's he that died o' Wednesday? 336. Where's Peace? I start, some clear-blown night, 209. Where now these mingled ruins lie, 5. Where swell the songs thou shouldst have sung, 409. Where the graves were many, we looked for one, 376. Where were ye, Birds, that bless his name, 490. While I recline, 314. 644. While now the Pole Star sinks from sight, 236. Why here, on this third planet from the Sun, 390. Why should I stay? Nor seed nor fruit have I, 490. Why shouldst thou cease thy plaintive song, 616. Why should we waste and weep, 260. open Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing, 296. Wide and unguarded stand our gates, 380. Wild is its nature, as it were a token, 340. Wild Rose of Alloway! my thanks, 39. Wild stream the clouds, and the fresh wind is singing, 355. Will there really be a morning? 587. Wind of the North, 632. With eyes hand-arched he looks into, 710. With oaken staff and swinging lantern bright, 521. With sails full set, the ship her anchor weighs, 324. With saintly grace and reverent tread, 444. With wrath-flushed cheeks, and eyelids red, 674. Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool! 27. Withdraw thee, soul, from strife, 627. Within a poor man's squalid home I stood, 387. Within his sober realm of leafless trees, 250. Wouldst know the artist? Then go seek, 668. Years have flown since I knew thee first, 475. "Yer know me little nipper," 764. Yes, death is at the bottom of the cup, 387. Yes, he was that, or that, as you prefer, 444. Ye smooth-faced sons of Jacob, hug close your ingleside, 758. Yes, still I love thee! Time, who sets, 195. Yet, O my friend — pale conjurer, I call, 631. Ye white Sicilian goats, who wander all, 770. Yon clouds that roam the deserts of the air, 630. You ask a verse, to sing (ah, laughing face!) 351. You ax about dat music made, 748. Young to the end through sympathy with youth, 637. Your heart is a music-box, dearest ! 170. You will come, my bird, Bonita? 430. |