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Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

A baby’s feet to He tripp’d up

Index to First Lines

A baby’s feet, like sea-shells pink
A being cleaves the moonlit air
Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide
A blood-red ring hung round the moon
A boat, beneath a sunny sky
About Glenkindie and his man
Above yon sombre swell of land
Across the fields like swallows fly
Across the sea a land there is
A cypress-bough, and a rose-wreath sweet
Afar the hunt in vales below has sped
A floating, a floating
A golden gillyflower to-day
A good sword and a trusty hand!
A happy day at Whitsuntide
Ah, be not vain. In yon flower-bell
Ah, bring it not so grudgingly
Ah, did you once see Shelley plain
Ah! I ’m feared thou’s come too sooin
Ah! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar
Ah! long ago since I or thou
Ah, love, the teacher we decried
Ah! not because our Soldier died before his field was won
A ho! A ho!
Ahoy! and O-ho! and it ’s who ’s for the ferry?
Ah, sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from that wheel
Ah! thou, too
Ah what avails the sceptred race
A lane of elms in June;—the air
Alas, how soon the hours are over
Alas, that my heart is a lute
Alas, the moon should ever beam
Alas! who knows or cares, my love
A line of light! it is the inland sea
A little fair soul that knew no sin
A little gray hill-glade, close-turfed, withdrawn
A little love, of Heaven a little share
A little while a little love
A little while my love and I
All beautiful things bring sadness, nor alone
All in the April evening
All June I bound the rose in sheaves
All my stars forsake me
All night I watched awake for morning
All other joys of life he strove to warm
All the storm has rolled away
All the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod
All things are changed save thee,—thou art the same
All things journey: sun and moon
All things that pass
Alone I stay; for I am lame
A lonely way, and as I went my eyes
Although I enter not
A maid who mindful of her playful time
Ambitious Nile, thy banks deplore
Am I the slave they say
A moth belated, sun and zephyrkist
And even our women, lastly grumbles Ben
And is the swallow gone?
And thus all-expectant abiding I waited not long for soon
And truth, you say, is all divine
And we might trust these youths and maidens fair
And you, ye stars
Anear the centre of that northern crest
Another night, and yet no tidings come
A pale and soul-sick woman with wan eyes
A pensive photograph
A place in thy memory, Dearest!
A poet of one mood in all my lays
A poor old king with sorrow for my crown
Are you ready for your steeplechase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe?
Are you tir’d?
Arise, my slumbering soul! arise
A roundel is wrought as a ring or a sphere
Artemidora! Gods invisible
Art’s use; what is it but to touch the springs
A seat for three, where host and guest
As fly the shadows o’er the grass
A shoal of idlers, from a merchant craft
As I came round the harbor buoy
As I came wandering down Glen Spean
Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea
As one dark morn I trod a forest glade
As one that for a weary space has lain
As one who strives from some fast steamer’s side
As one would stand who saw a sudden light
As on my bed at dawn I mus’d and pray’d
A Sonnet is a moment’s monument
A spade! a rake! a hoe!
As ships, becalm’d at eve, that lay
As thro’ the land at eve we went
A street there is in Paris famous
As yonder lamp in my vacated room
At a pot-house bar as I chanced to pass
At dinner she is hostess, I am host
A thousand miles from land are we
At husking time the tassel fades
Athwart the sky a lowly sigh
At Nebra, by the Unstrut
At night when sick folk wakeful lie
At Paris it was, at the Opera there
At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time
Awake, my heart, to be lov’d, awake, awake!
Awake!—the crimson dawn is glowing
Awake thee, my Lady-love!
Away, haunt thou not me
Aw’d by her own rash words she was still
A widow,—she had only one!
Ay, an old story, yet it might
Aye, squire, said Stevens, they back him at evens
Back to the flower-town, side by side
Barb’d blossom of the guarded gorse
Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!
Beautiful face of a child
Beautiful spoils! borne off from vanquish’d death!
Beauty still walketh on the earth and air
Because the shadows deepen’d verily
Before I trust my fate to thee
Before us in the sultry dawn arose
Beloved, it is morn!
Below lies one whose name was traced in sand
Be mine, and I will give thy name
Beneath a palm-tree by a clear cool spring
Beneath the sand-storm John the Pilgrim prays
Beneath the shadow of dawn’s aerial cope
Beneath this starry arch
Be not afraid to pray—to pray is right
Be patient, O be patient! Put your ear against the earth
Beside the pounding cataracts
Better trust all and be deceiv’d
Between the roadside and the wood
Between the showers I went my way
Between two golden tufts of summer grass
Beyond a hundred years and more
Beyond the smiling and the weeping
Beyond the vague Atlantic deep
Birds that were gray in the green are black in the yellow
Bless the dear old verdant land!
Blithe playmate of the Summer time
Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying
Blow, wind, blow
Blythe bell, that calls to bridal halls
Bonnie Bessie Lee had a face fu’ o’ smiles
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Borgia, thou once wert almost too august
Both thou and I alike, my Bacchic urn
Brave as a falcon and as merciless
Break, break, break
Breath o’ the grass
Brief is Erinna’s song, her lowly lay
Bright Eyes, Light Eyes! Daughter of a Fay!
Bring me my dead!
Bring no jarring lute this way
Bring snow-white lilies, pallid heart-flushed roses
Brother, thou art gone before us
Brown eyes
Build high your white and dazzling palaces
Bury the Great Duke
But now the sun had pass’d the height of Heaven
But yesterday she played with childish things
Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, my golden-belted bees
By a dim shore where water darkening
By copse and hedgerow, waste and wall
Charles,—for it seems you wish to know
Cheeks as soft as July peaches
Chicken-skin, delicate, white
Child of a day, thou knowest not
Children indeed are we—children that wait
Christmas is here
City about whose brow the north winds blow
Colonos! can it be that thou hast still
Come and kiss me, mistress Beauty
Come, dear children, let us away
Come from busy haunts of men
Come here, good people great and small, that wander far abroad
Come hither, Evan Cameron!
Come in the evening, or come in the morning
Come! in this cool retreat
Come into the garden, Maud
Come Micky and Molly and dainty Dolly
Come, Sleep! but mind ye! if you come without
Comes something down with eventide
Come, stand we here within this cactus-brake
Comes the lure of green things growing
Come then, a song; a winding gentle song
Come while the afternoon of May
Consider the sea’s listless chime
Cool, and palm-shaded from the torrid heat
Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas
Count each affliction, whether light or grave
Countess, I see the flying year
Count the flashes in the surf
Courage! he said, and pointed toward the land
Curious, the ways of these folk of humble and hardly condition
Cursed by the gods and crowned with shame
Darby dear, we are old and gray
Dark Lily without blame
Day is dead, and let us sleep
Day of my life! Where can she get?
Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the east
Dead. The dead year is lying at my feet
Dead, with their eyes to the foe
Dear child! whom sleep can hardly tame
Dear Cosmopolitan,—I know
Dear, did you know how sweet to me
Dear Eyes, set deep within the shade
Dear, had the world in its caprice
Dear, let me dream of love
Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee
Death stands above me, whispering low
Death, though already in the world, as yet
Deep Honeysuckle! in the silent eve
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Dorothy goes with her pails to the ancient well in the courtyard
Dost thou not hear? Amid dun, lonely hills
Dost thou remember, friend of vanished days
Doth it not thrill thee, Poet
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers
Do you recall that night in June
Dying, and loth to die, and long’d to die
England! since Shakespeare died no loftier day
Enough! we ’re tired, my heart and I
Even thus, methinks, a city rear’d should be
Faint grew the yellow buds of light
Fain would I have thee barter fates with me
Fair little spirit of the woodland mazes
Faithful reports of them have reached me oft!
Farewell, Life! my senses swim
Farewell, my Youth! for now we needs must part
Far off? Not far away
Far out at sea—the sun was high
Father! the little girl we see
Father, who keepest
Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat
Fhairshon swore a feud
Fill, comrades, fill the bowl right well
Fingers on the holes, Johnny
Fleet, fleet and few, ay, fleet the moments fly
Flower in the crannied wall
Flower of the medlar
Flowers I would bring if flowers could make thee fairer
Forever with the Lord!
For our martyr’d Charles I pawn’d my plate
Forty Viziers saw I go
Fourteen small broidered berries on the hem
Four years!—and didst thou stay above
Fresh with all airs of woodland brooks
Friends, whom she look’d at blandly from her couch
From breakfast on through all the day
From falling leaf to falling leaf
From out the grave of one whose budding years
From plains that reel to southward, dim
From the bonny bells of heather
From the recesses of a lowly spirit
From this carved chair wherein I sit tonight
Frown’d the Laird on the Lord
Gamarra is a dainty steed
Gaze not at me, my poor unhappy bird
Gentle and grave, in simple dress
Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning wheel
Give me, O friend, the secret of thy heart
Give me thy joy in sorrow, gracious Lord
Give me thyself! It were as well to cry
Glass antique, ’twixt thee and Nell
God made my lady lovely to behold
God spake three times and saved Van Elsen’s soul
God who created me
God with His million cares
God ye hear not, how shall ye hear me?
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Gone art thou? gone, and is the light of day
Good-by in fear, good-by in sorrow
Gray o’er the pallid links, haggard and forsaken
Gray Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest
Green, in the wizard arms
Green is the plane-tree in the square
Green leaves panting for joy with the great wind rushing through
Hack and Hew were the sons of God
Half a league, half a league
Half kneeling yet, and half reclining
Half loving-kindliness and half disdain
Happy the man who so hath Fortune tried
Hark! ah, the nightingale
Has summer come without the rose
Hast thou no right to joy
Have little care that Life is brief
Heart of Earth, let us be gone
He came to call me back from death
He ceas’d, but while he spake, Rustum had risen
He crawls to the cliff and plays on a brink
He crouches, and buries his face on his knees
He is gone: better so. We should know who stand under
He is the happy wanderer, who goes
Hence, rude Winter! crabbed old fellow
Here doth Dionysia lie
Here I ’d come when weariest!
Here in the country’s heart
Here let us leave him; for his shroud the snow
Here Love the slain with Love the slayer lies
Here of a truth the world’s extremes are met
Here’s the gold cup all bossy with satyrs and saints
Here’s to him that grows it
Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound
Here where the sunlight
Here where under earth his head
Her face is hushed in perfect calm
Her hair was tawny with gold, her eyes with purple were dark
He rises and begins to round
Her Master gave the signal, with a look
He sang so wildly, did the Boy
He sat among the woods; he heard
He sat the quiet stream beside
He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower
He sought Australia’s far-famed isle
He tripp’d up the steps with a bow and a smile