Rarely, rarely, comest thou
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Shall I, wasting in despair
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
She is not fair to outward view
She walks in beauty, like the night
She was a phantom of delight
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part
Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile
Souls of Poets dead and gone
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king
Star that bringest home the bee
Stern Daughter of the voice of God!
Surprised by joy--impatient as the wind
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade
Swiftly walk over the western wave
Take, O take those lips away
Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
Tell me where is Fancy bred
That time of year thou may'st in me behold
That which her slender waist confined
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day
The forward youth that would appear
The fountains mingle with the river
The glories of our blood and state
The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King
The lovely lass o' Inverness
The merchant, to secure his treasure
The more we live, more brief appear
The poplars are fell'd! farewell to the shade
The sun is warm, the sky is clear
The sun upon the lake is low
The twentieth year is well-nigh past
The World is too much with us; late and soon
The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man
There be none of Beauty's daughters
There is a flower, the lesser Celandine
There is a garden in her face
There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream
They that have power to hurt, and will do none
This is the month, and this the happy morn
This life, which seems so fair
Three years she grew in sun and shower
Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
Timely blossom, Infant fair
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
Toll for the brave
To me, fair Friend, you never can be old
'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
'Twas on a lofty vase's side
Two Voices are there, one is of the Sea