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F

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree
Fair ship, that from the Italian shore
Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore
Fairest isle, all isles excelling
Fall’n is thy throne, O Israel
Farewell ! on wings of sombre stain
Feathered lyric! warbling high
Few are my years, and yet I feel
First-born of Chaos, who so fair did'st come
Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea
Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep
For lo the Sea that fleets about the land
For them the moon with cloudless ray
For Thou wert born of woman! Thou didst come
For whoso holds in righteousness the throne
Fortune, that with malicious joy .
From life's superfluous cares enlarg'd

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Gentle river ! gentle river
Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Give me more love or more disdain
Give pardon, blessed soul, to my bold cries
Giver of glowing light
Γλαυκάς ο φιλέριθ' αλακάτα δώρον 'Αθανάας
Gloomy winter's now awa'
Go up and watch the new-born rill
God that madest earth and heaven
Goe find some whispering shade neare Arne or Poe
Gold I've none, for use or show.
Gone are the glorious Greeks of old
Good gossip, if you love me
Good sir, come from the door

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Had I a cave on some wild distant shore
Hail, Memory, hail ! in thy exhaustless mine
Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good
Hail! sacred thou to hallowed joy
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit
Haply when from those eyes
Happy that first white age! when we
Happy the man, whose wish and care
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings
Hark! how the birds do sing
Hark, how through many a melting note
Hark! whence that rushing sound
He is not moved with all the thunder-cracks
He that is down need fear no fall
He that loves a rosy cheek
He that of such a height hath built his mind
He that thirsts for glory's prize
He who hath bent him o'er the dead
He who is good is happy
Hear ye this word which I take up against you
Here, as to shame the temples decked.
Here new-built towns, aspiring high
High on a rock, whose castled shade
How are thy servants blest, O Lord
How calm, how beautiful comes on
How dull! to hear the voice of those
How happy is he born and taught
How now, sir ? is your merry humour altered

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How short is Life's uncertain space
How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream
How sweet the answer Echo makes
How was he honoured in the midst of the people
Hues of the rich unfolding morn.
Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me

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I'm wearing awa', Jean
i did but look and love awhile :
I envy not their hap
I feel no care for coin
I've roamed through many a weary round
I leave mortality's low sphere
I love all that thou lovest
I met Louisa in the shade
I praised the Earth, in beauty seen
I saw a falling leaf soon strew
I sung the joyful Pæan clear
I travelled among unknown men
I view thee on the calmy shore
I wish I was by that dim Lake
I will meet thee on the hill
I would I were a careless child
If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song
If in the fight my arm was strong
If thou, my love, wert by my side
If to a rock from rains he fly
If to be absent were to be
If weeping eyes could wash away
If wine and music have the power
If you, O Trophimus, and you alone
Ill-busied man! why should'st thou take such care
In a drear-nighted December
In all thy need, be thou possest
In childhood, when with eager eyes
In doubtful twilight Nature sleeps
In glowing youth he stood beside
In the calm spring, when the earth bears
In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining
In the hour of my distress
In time we see

drops
In vain with various arts they strive
In yonder grove a Druid lies
"Ισον δε νύκτεσσιν αιεί
It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well
It is not Beauty I demand
It is not growing like a tree
It is not that my lot is low
It tells the conqueror
It was, and still my care is
It would less vex distressed man

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Lay a garland on my hearse
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son
Leave off unfit complaints and clear
Let ambition fire thy mind

Let not thy youth and false delights
Let us quit the leafy arbour
Let us turn hitherward our bark, they cried
Like the violet which alone
Liquid Peneus was flowing
Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours
Lofft, unto thee one tributary song
Look as the flow'r which lingeringly doth fade
Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown Rose
Lord of vale! astounding Flood
Love thy mother, little one
Lovely, lasting peace of mind
Lovely nymph, with eye serene
Lyke as the culver on the bared bough

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Mark how, a thousand streams in one
Mark that swift arrow how it cuts the air
Μαρμαίρει δε μέγας δόμος χάλκω
Martial, the things that do attain
Μέγα τι σθένος ο Κύπρις εκφέρεται
Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it
Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire
Milton, thou shouldst be living at this hour
Mindful of disaster past
Morpheus, the humble god that dwells
Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year
Music the fiercest grief can charm
Music, when soft voices die
My conscience is my crown
My dear and only love, I pray.
My dearest love, since thou wilt go
My eyes are dim with childish tears
My fortune might I form at will
My heart leaps up, when I behold
My liege, I am advised what I say
My soul, there is a country

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No after-friendship e'er can raise
No bitter tears for thee be shed
No longer seek the needless aid
No nightingale did ever chant
No war, or battle's sound
Nor can it bliss you bring
Nor can the parted body know
Not faster yonder rowers' might
Not Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell
Not marble, not the gilded monuments
Not once or twice in our rough island story
Not song, nor beauty, nor the wondrous power
Not that thy trees at Penshurst groan
Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile
Now each creature joys the other
Now, sir, have I met you again
Now sober Cynthia spreads her lucid beam
Now strike the golden lyre again
Now that the winter 's gone, the earth hath lost
Now the golden Morn aloft.

0
O fair and goodly star, upon the brow of night
O for a sculptor's hand
O from thy kindred early torn
O, I shall burst

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O lady, twine no wreath for me.
O Lord, I have heard thy speech
O memory, celestial maid
O music, sphere-descended maid
O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
O not to be were best for man
O nymph! approach, while yet the temperate sun
Ο φάος άγνόν
O Queen of numbers, once again
O sire of storms! whose savage ear
O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South
O thou by heaven ordained to be
O thou my lyre, awake, arise
O thou, that prattling on thy pebbled way
O thou ! who bad'st thy turtles bear
O thou, who by the light of Nature dost enkindle
O voice divine, whose heavenly strain
O, weep not for the gathered rose
O'wild West wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
O you, the Virgins nine
October winds, wi' biting breath.
O'er the rolling waves we go
Of holier joy he sang, more true delight
Of power and honour the deceitful light
Oft on the troubled ocean's face.
Oft with its fiery force
Oft would the Dryads of these woods rejoice
Oh, deem not they are blest alone
Oh, Fortune, how thy restless wavering state
Oh! from your sacred seats look down
Oh golden link connecting man with man
Oh, how hard it is to find
Oh! sacred Memory, tablet of the heart
Oh! that we two were maying,
On Linden, when the sun was low
Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee
Only a little more
Οφελε πρότερον αιθέρα δύναι μέγαν
Or lead me where amid the tranquil vale
Or when the winter torrent rolls
Orpheus with his lute made trees

:

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Sees not my friend, what a deep snow
Servant of God! well done
She had left all on earth for him
She shall be sportive as the fawn
She sighs-like winds at eve
Shepherds all, and maidens fair
Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep
Short is our span; then why engage
Shout for the mighty men.
Sing his praises that doth keep
Sleep, Ambition ! Rage, expire !
Sleep !--we give thee to the wave
Sleep, little baby, sleep
Smiles on past Misfortune's brow
So much a stranger my severer Muse
So restless Cromwell could not cease
So, we'll go no more a roving
So, when the wisest poets seek
So, where the silent streams of Liris glide
Softly gliding as I go
Soldier, go-but not to claim
Sometimes upon the diamond rocks they leant
Star that bringest home the bee
Still is the toiling hand of Care
Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this
Strew on her roses, roses
Such is the fate of artless maid
Summer's last lingering rose is blown
Sun-girt City! thou hast been
Supreme Divinity ! who yet
Sure thou didst flourish once
Sweet are the harmonies of Spring
Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire
Sweet Echo, sleeps thy vocal shell
Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that livest unseen
Sweet evening hour! sweet evening hour
Sweet Iser! were thy sunny realm
Sweet to the gay of heart is Summer's smile
Sweet warriour ! when shall I have peace with

you
Sweetest love, I do not

go
Swift as light thoughts their empty career run
Swifter far than summer's fight
Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel
Swiftly walk over the western wave

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Τα μεν κατ' οίκους έφ' εστίας άχη
Tαι δ' επεί υλόκομον νάπος ήλυθον, ούρειών
Ταν όλα ταν γλαυκάν όταν άνεμος άτρέμα βάλλη
Τάχυ δε Καδμείων αγοι χαλκέoις
Take back the virgin page
Take these flowers, which purple waving
Τέαν, Ζεύ, δύνασιν τις ανδρών
Tell me not how fair she is
Tell me of his expenses ! which of you
Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of light
The bark divine, itself instinct with life
The bright haired sun with warmth benign
The dear illusions will not last
The Earth and Ocean were not hushed to hear
The Earth that in her genial breast
The Falcon is a noble bird
The fallen leaf repeats the mournful tale
The flower that smiles to-day
The fountains mingle with the river

F. S. II.

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