INDEX OF FIRST LINES
Accross the fallow clods at early morn
Ah sure it is a lovely day
Amidst the happiest joy a shade of grief
And in the maple bush there hides the style
And must we part that once so close
Beautiful Sorrow in thy silence thou
Black absence hides upon the past
Come dwell with me
Come early morning with thy mealy grey
Come luscious spring come with thy mossy roots
Darkness came o’er like chaos - and the sun
Darkness like midnight from the sobbing woods
Delicious is a leisure hour
Didknow where to meet thee
Dying gales of sweet even
Eliza now the summer tells
Fair maiden when my love began
Far spread the moorey ground alevel scene
First love will with the heart remain
Free from the cottage comer see how wild
From bank to bank the water roars Like thunder in a storm
Harken that happy shout — the school-house door
He could not die when trees were green
He loved the brook’s soft sound
Her cheeks are like roses
Here’s a health unto thee bonny lassie O
Here’s where Mary loved to be
Hesperus, the day is gone
How fresh the air, the birds how busy now
How oft a summer shower hath started me
How pleasant are the fields to roam and think
How silent comes this gentle wind
Hugh elm thy rifted trunk all notched and scarred
I am - yet whatam, none cares or knows;
I envy e’en the fly its gleams of joy
I feel I am, I only know I am
I hid my love when young while I 352
I long to think of thee in lonely midnight
I lost the love of heaven above
I love at eventide to walk alone
I love it well, o’ercanopied in leaves
I love the fitfull gust that shakes
I love the awthorn well
I love to see the old heath’s withered brake
I never pass a venerable tree
I peeled bits o’ straws andgot switches too
I saw her in my spring’s young choice
I seek her in the shady grove,
I sleep with thee and wake with thee
I think of thee at early day
I went in the fields with the leisure I got, 211
I wish I was where I would be
I wish I was where I would be
I’ll come to thee at eventide
In the cowslip’s peeps I lye
In this cold world without a home
In thy wild garb of other times
Infants’ graves are steps of angels where
It is the evening hour
I’ve left mine own old home of homes
I’ve loved thee Swordy Well and love thee still
I’ve wandered many a weary mile
Just by the wooden brig a bird flew up
Leaves from eternity are simple things
Let us go in the fields love and see the green tree
Little trotty wagtail he went in the rain
Love is a secret
Love lies beyond
Lovely Mary when we parted
Lover of swamps
Maid of Walkherd, meet again
Many are May time is to the meadows coming in
Many are poets — though they use no pen
Midsummer’s breath gives ripeness to the year
Musing beside the crackling fire at night
My old lover left me I knew not for why
No single hour can stand for nought
Now comes the bonny May dancing and skipping
Now evening comes and from the new-laid hedge
Now is past, the happy now
Now swathy summer by rude health embrowned
O cold is the winter day And iron is the ground
O’ come to my arms i‘ the cool o’ the day
O dear to us ever the scenes of our childhood
O for a pleasant book to cheat the sway
O Lord God Almighty How Usefull Art Thou
O Mary dear, three springs have been
O Mary sing thy songs to me
O Mary thou that once made all
O poesy is on the wane
O poesy’s power, thou overpowering sweet
O sigh no more, love, sigh no more
O wert thou in the storm
Old elm that murmured in our chimney top
Old January clad in crispy rime
Old stone pits with veined ivy overhung
Old tree, oblivion doth thy life condemn
On Lolham Brigs in wild and lonely mood
On the rude heath yclad in furze and ling
Pale sunbeams gleam
Petitioners are full of prayers
‘Poets are born’ — and so are whores — the trade is
Poets love nature and themselves are love
Pleased in his loneliness he often lies
Remember dear Mary love cannot deceive
Roaming the little path ‘neath dotterel trees
Sauntering at ease I often love to lean
Say What Is Love - To Live In Vain
She tied up her few things
Spring comes anew and brings each little pledge
Spring cometh in with all her hues and smells
Summer morning is risen
Summer’s pleasures they are gone like to visions every one
Sweet days while God your blessings send
Sweet little minstrel of the sunny summer
Sweet twilight nurse of dews
Sweet chesnuts brown like soleing-leather turn
That summer bird its oft-repeated note
The apple-top’t oak in the old narrow lane
The autumn morning waked by many a gun
The Autumn wind on suthering wings
The badger grunting on his woodland track
The bird cherry’s white in the dews o’ the morning
The birds are gone to bed the cows are still
The Blackbird Has Built In The Pasture Agen
The crib-stock fothered, horses suppered-up
The crow will tumble up and down
The Crow sat on the willow tree
The daisy-button tipped wi’ dew Green like the grass was sleeping
The evening gathers from the gloomy woods
The evening is for love As the morning is for toil
The evening o’er the meadow seems to stoop
The flag-top quivers in the breeze
The floods come o’er the meadow leas
The fly or beetle on their track
The foddering boy along the crumping snows
The frog half-fearful jumps accross the path
The frolicksome wind through the trees and the bushes
The girllove is flesh and blood
The hazel blooms, in the threads of crimson hue
The heaven’s are wrath - the thunder’s rattling peal
The hedgehog hides beneath the rotten hedge
The Larks in the sky love
The martin-cat long-shagged of courage good
The morning comes — the drops of dew
The one delicious green that now prevades
The past it is a majic word
The rawk o’ the Autumn hangs over the woodlands
The rich brown umber hue the oaks unfold
The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside
The Rose Of The World Was Dear Mary To Me
The ruin of a ruin - man of mirth
The rural occupations of the year
The shepherd on his journey heard when nigh
The shepherds and the herding swains
The shepherd’s hut propt by the double ash
The sinken sun is takin’ leave
The skylark mounts up with the mom
The snow falls deep; the Forest lies alone:
The South-west wind, how pleasant in the face
The spring is come forth but no spring is for me
The spring may forget that he reigns in the sky
The spring returns, the pewet screams
The stepping-stones that stride the meadow streams
The summer she is gone her book is shut
The sun has gone down with a veil on her brow
The sun had grown on lessening day
The sun had stooped his westward clouds to win
The sun looks downin such a mellow light
The sunshine bathes in clouds of many hues
The sweet spring now is coming
The tame hedge-sparrow in its russet dress
The thistledown’s flying Though the winds are all still
The weary woodman rocking home beneath
The wind waves o’er the meadows green
The wood-anemonie through dead oak-leaves
The woodland swamps with mosses varified
There is a day a dreadfull day
There is a feeling nought can calm
There is a wild and beautiful neglect
There lies a sultry lusciousness around
There’s a little odd house by the side of the Lane
There’s more then music in this early wind
There’s pleasure on the pasture lea
These childem of the sun which summer brings
They ne’er read the heart
This visionary theme is thine
Thou’rt dearest to my bosom
Thou hermit haunter of the lonely glen
Thou tiney loiterer on the barley’s beard
’Tis autumn now and nature’s scenes
’Tis evening, the black snail has got on his track
’Tis haytime and the red-complexioned sun
‘Tis spring thy love ’tis spring
’Tis winter plain the images around
True poesy is not in words
Twilight meek nurse of dews
Up this green woodland ride let’s softly rove
Upon the collar of a hugh old oak
We never know the sweets o’ joy
Wearied with his lonely walk
Welcome sweet eve thy gently sloping sky
Well, honest John, how far you now at home?
Well, in my many walks I rarely found
What a night the wind howls hisses and but stops
What is song’s eternity?
What time the wheat field tinges rusty brown
When life’s tempests blow high
Where is the heart thou once hast won
Where last year’s leaves and weeds decay
Where the ash-tree weaves
Who hath not felt the influence that so calms
Why is the cuckoo’s melody preferred
Wilt thou go with me sweet maid
Wing-winnowing lark with speckled breast
Winter is come in earnest and the snow
Woman had we never met
Would’st thou but know where Nature clings
Youth has no fear ofby no cloudy days annoyed