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

O babbling Spring to There is no laughter

Index to First Lines

O babbling Spring, than glass more clear
O bear him where the rain can fall
O blessed Dead! beyond all earthly pains
O bonnie bird, that in the brake, exultant, dost prepare thee
O brothers, who must ache and stoop
O Child of Nations, giant-limbed
Och! the Coronation! what celebration
O Deep of Heaven, ’t is thou alone art boundless
O’Driscoll drove with a song
O d’ you hear the seas complainin’, and complainin’, whilst it ’s rainin’?
Of all the thoughts of God that are
Of all the wives as e’er you know
Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing
O, for the times which were
O friend, like some cold wind to-day
Often rebuk’d, yet always back returning
Oh, aged Time! how far, and long
Oh, Bisham Banks are fresh and fair
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet
Oh, England is a pleasant place for them that ’s rich and high
Oh, fill me flagons full and fair
Oh! had you eyes, but eyes that move
Oh, happy, happy maid
Oh, it is hard to work for God
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I
Oh, lovely Mary Donnelly, it ’s you I love the best!
Oh, many a leaf will fall to-night
O hour of all hours, the most blest upon earth
Oh! that we two were Maying
Oh, there ’s mony a gate eawt ov eawr teawn-end
Oh, to be in England now that April ’s there
Oh, wha hae ye brought us hame now, my brave lord
Oh! where do fairies hide their heads
Oh! wherefore come ye forth in triumph from the north
Oh! why left I my hame?
Oh, ye wild waves, shoreward dashing
Old England’s sons are English yet
Old things need not be therefore true
O Life! that mystery that no man knows
O long ago, when Faeryland
O Lord of heaven, and earth, and sea!
O lords! O rulers of the nation!
O Lord, thy wing outspread
O love, if you were here
O love! thou makest all things even
O love, what hours were thine and mine
O Mary, go and call the cattle home
O may I join the choir invisible
O! Meäry, when the zun went down
O monstrous, dead, unprofitable world
O mother, mother, I swept the hearth, I set his chair and the white board spread
O My Dark Rosaleen
On a starr’d night Prince Lucifer uprose
On Bellosguardo, when the year was young
On Calais Sands the gray began
Once, from the parapet of gems and glow
Once in a golden hour
Once ye were happy, once by many a shore
One asked of Regret
One face alone, one face alone
One moment the boy, as he wander’d by night
One more unfortunate
One only rose our village maiden wore
On gossamer nights when the moon is low
On Helen’s heart the day were night!
Only a touch, and nothing more
On me and on my children!
On other fields and other scenes the morn
On shores of Sicily a shape of Greece!
On through the Libyan sand
O Paradise, O Paradise
O pensive, tender maid, downcast and shy
Ope your doors and take me in
O saw ye not fair Ines?
O shepherds! take my crook from me
O singer of the field and fold
O somewhere, somewhere, God unknown
O sons of men, that toil, and love with tears!
O thou that cleavest heaven
O thou to whom, athwart the perished days
O unhatch’d Bird, so high preferr’d
Our bark is on the waters: wide around
Our England’s heart is sound as oak
Our little babe
Our little bird in his full day of health
Our night repast was ended: quietness
Ours all are marble halls
Out from the City’s dust and roar
Out of the frozen earth below
Out of the golden remote wild west where the sea without shore is
Out of the uttermost ridge of dusk, where the dark and the day are mingled
Out of this town there riseth a high hill
Outside the village, by the public road
Over his millions Death has lawful power
Over the sea our galleys went
O wanderer in the southern weather
Owd Pinder were a rackless foo
O when the half-light weaves
O where do you go, and what’s your will
O Wind of the Mountain, Wind of the Mountain, hear!
O wind, thou hast thy kingdom in the trees
O youth whose hope is high
Pardon the faults in me
Passing feet pause, as they pass
Passion the fathomless spring, and words the precipitate waters
Peace! what do tears avail?
Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes
Play me a march, low-ton’d and slow
Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem
Plunged in night, I sit alone
Poets are singing the whole world over
Poor old pilgrim Misery
Poor wither’d rose and dry
Princess of pretty pets
Proud and lowly, beggar and lord
Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak
Quick gleam, that ridest on the gossamer!
Rachel, the beautiful (as she was call’d)
Reign on, majestic Ville Marie!
Remain, ah not in youth alone
Remember me when I am gone away
Rest here, at last
Rhaicos was born amid the hills wherefrom
Riches I hold in light esteem
Ride on! ride on in majesty!
Righ Shemus he has gone to France, and left his crown behind
Rise! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn
Rise up, my song! stretch forth thy wings and fly
Roll on, and with thy rolling crust
Round the cape of a sudden came the sea
Row me o’er the strait, Douglas Gordon
Sad is my lot; among the shining spheres
Sad is our youth, for it is ever going
Say, did his sisters wonder what could Joseph see
Say, fair maids, maying
Schelynlaw Tower is fair on the brae
Sea-birds are asleep
Seamen three! what men be ye?
Seeds with wings, between earth and sky
Seek not the tree of silkiest bark
Seems not our breathing light?
See what a lovely shell
Set in this stormy Northern sea
Seven weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm
Shakespeare, thy legacy of peerless song
Shall mine eyes behold thy glory, O my country?
Shall we not weary in the windless days
She dared not wait my coming, and shall look
She gave her life to love. She never knew
She has a beauty of her own
She has a primrose at her breast
She is not fair to outward view
She is not yet, but he whose ear
She leads me on through storm and calm
She lived where the mountains go down to the sea
She passes in her beauty bright
She sat and wept beside His feet; the weight
She sat beside the mountain springs
She sits beneath the elder-tree
She stands, a thousand-wintered tree
She stood breast high amid the corn
She turn’d the fair page with her fairer hand
She wanders in the April woods
She wore a wreath of roses
Ship, to the roadstead rolled
Should I long that dark were fair?
Siccine separat amara mors?
Sigh his name into the night
Silence. A while ago
Sing, I pray, a little song
Sing the song of wave-worn Coogee, Coogee in the distance white
Sister Simplicitie
Sit down, sad soul, and count
Sleep that like the couched dove
So, Freedom, thy great quarrel may we serve
So I arm thee for the final night
So long he rode he drew anigh
Some clerks aver that as the tree doth fall
Some years ago, ere time and taste
So sweet love seem’d that April morn
Soulless, colorless strain, thy words are the words of wisdom
So when the old delight is born anew
Spare all who yield; alas, that we must pierce
Speak, quiet lips, and utter forth my fate
Speed on, speed on, good master!
Spirit of Spring, thy coverlet of snow
Spirit of Twilight, through your folded wings
Spring it is cheery
Spring, summer, autumn, winter
Stand close around, ye Stygian set
Standing on tiptoe ever since my youth
Still farther would I fly, my child
Still more, still more: I feel the demon move
Stop, mortal! Here thy brother lies
Summer dieth:—o’er his bier
Sunset and evening star
Surrounded by unnumber’d foes
Sweet and low, sweet and low
Sweetest sweets that time hath rifled
Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers
Sweet singer of the Spring, when the new world
Take as gold this old tradition
Take back into thy bosom, earth
Take back your suit
Take me, Mother Earth, to thy cold breast
Take the world as it is!—there are good and bad in it
Tears for my lady dead
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean
Tell me not of morrows, sweet
Tell me now in what hidden way is
Tell me, what is a poet’s thought?
Tell me, ye winged winds
Thaisa fair, under the cold sea lying
Tha ’rt welcome, little bonny brid
That ’s my last Duchess painted on the wall
That was a brave old epoch
The ancient memories buried lie
The auld wife sat at her ivied door
The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht
The baron hath the landward park, the fisher hath the sea
The Barons bold on Runnymede
The bay is set with ashy sails
The bees about the Linden-tree
The bird’s song, the sun, and the wind
The blessed damozel lean’d out
The Books say well, my Brothers! each man’s life
The breaths of kissing night and day
The broken moon lay in the autumn sky
The buds awake at touch of Spring
The Bulbul wail’d, “Oh, Rose! all night I sing
The butterfly from flower to flower
The Chancellor mused as he nibbled his pen
The changing guests, each in a different mood
The characters of great and small
The chime of a bell of gold
The churchyard leans to the sea with its dead
The commissioner bet me a pony—I won
The crab, the bullace, and the sloe
The crimson leafage fires the lawn
The curtain on the grouping dancers falls
The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept
The day was lingering in the pale northwest
The dead abide with us! Though stark and cold
The doors are shut, the windows fast
The dreamy rhymer’s measur’d snore
The dule ’s i’ this bonnet o’ mine
The East was crowned with snow-cold bloom
The fair varieties of earth
The flame-wing’d seraph spake a word
The fray began at the middle-gate
The frost will bite us soon
The gray sea and the long black land
The great soft downy snow storm like a cloak
The ground I walk’d on felt like air
The hollow sea-shell, which for years hath stood
The Iris was yellow, the moon was pale
The irresponsive silence of the land
The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal’s chair!
The King with all his kingly train
The ladies of St. James’s
The ladies rose. I held the door
The Lady of the Hills with crimes untold
The lake comes throbbing in with voice of pain
The lark above our heads doth know
The last of England! O’er the sea, my dear
The linnet in the rocky dells
The lover of child Marjory
The loves that doubted, the loves that dissembled
The men of learning say she must
The merry-go-round, the merry-go-round, the merry-go-round at Fowey!
The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer
The monument outlasting bronze
The moon-white waters wash and leap
The moorland waste lay hushed in the dusk of the second day
The Mother of the Muses, we are taught
The mother will not turn, who thinks she hears
The mountain sheep are sweeter
The music had the heat of blood
The Musmee has brown velvet eyes
The nest is built, the song hath ceas’d
The night has a thousand eyes
The Northern Lights are flashing
Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge
Theocritus! Theocritus! ah, thou hadst pleasant dreams
The odor of a rose: light of a star
The old mayor climb’d the belfry tower
The old men sat with hats pull’d down
The orb I like is not the one
The play is done—the curtain drops
The Poem of the Universe
The Poet stood in the sombre town
The point is turned; the twilight shadow fills
The poplars and the ancient elms
The pouring music, soft and strong
The primrwose in the sheäde do blow
There be the greyhounds! lo’k! an’ there ’s the heäre!
There came a soul to the gate of Heaven
The red tiled towers of the old Château
There falls with every wedding chime
There is a book, who runs may read
There is a flower I wish to wear
There is a green hill far away
There is an Isle beyond our ken
There is a safe and secret place
There is a singing in the summer air
There is a soul above the soul of each
There is a stream, I name not its name, lest inquisitive tourist
There is delight in singing, though none hear
There is no land like England
There is no laughter in the natural world