The Periodical Poetry Index

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Laden come the maidens home,
Lassie wi' the face sae bonnie,
Lassie with the lips sae rosy,
Lay your dear little hand on my heart, my fair!
Let me alone!
Let the weary body lie
Life is no sleepless dream, as poets sing:
Life's milestones, marking year on year,
Lightning; and o'er those hills the rattling shock
Like some old friend from far who visits us
Like spray blown lightly from the crested wave
Like the light of a dawn that was roseate and splendid,
List a tale a fairy sent us
Little snatch of ancient song
Live with the world whoso has nerve
Lo! already a fern new-born
Lo! in a dream Love came down to me and cried,
Long, my love, I followed, to the fifth milestone;
Look down the river--against the western sky--
Lord, let me know mine end, and of my days
Love and Death one day together
Love held to me a chalice of red wine
Love knocked softly at the gate
Man was not born to say--I will be free;
Mayor is dead. A jolly man,
Measured are the paces
Melek the Sultan, tired and wan,
Mercedes mia! turn thine eyes away,
Methinks that thou hast led me to a vast
Methought that it was morn, and that I woke
Monsieur the Cure down the street
Month after month of fighting--till Hope in the dust lay low,
Morning is flashing from a glorious sun
Must we shout for the Franchise? Well, show what you mean--
My bairn, we aince were bairnies,
My bonnie blithe fisher-maiden,
My creed and my master you wish to learn?
My fire burnt low--at intervals
My friend, your golden age is gone,
My God, who makest all Thy winds to blow,
My heart is sad, with sore misgiving
My heart, my heart is heavy,
My little niece and I--I read
My little wife is out beyond the burn,
My lord, I think we safely may predict--
My love you cannot, cannot brook!
My love's a match in beauty
My love, we were sitting together
My songs, they are poison'd--poison'd!
My wife's a winsome wee thing,
Myself shall one day, after death, be taught
Nay! Let them dream their dream of perfect love;
Nay, don't lose heart; small men and mighty nations,
Night, beloved night!
No golden dome shines over Damien's sleep:
No man fears men, but he who knows them not;
No more the shocks of Corn
No need to sing of him who wielded well
No! no! my friend. You are all wrong, all wrong!
No! such a God my worship may not win,
Noble be man,
Not "better than our Fathers," we
Not yet the infant Spring
November--and the world of shades is here!
Now and then--not very often--
Now do I know that Love is blind, for I
Now in the country-side from hawthorn snows,
Now, while the breath of summer up the street
O Death! how sweet the thought
O Eyes, serene and clear,
O fair is life, as foam-bells on the wave;
O February Filldyke! darkly pour
O for the gift to rise to full degree,
O Galatea,--so may every Grace
O God! how oft from those hot leads arose
O high-aspiring soul of man that reaches
O Lady Betty, pert and bold,
O Life! O Death! How good ye are and fair,
O Life! O Death! Ye dread mysterious twain,
O love, sweet love, must I weep in a lonely room?
O men of old, whose classic deeds
O my child-love, my love of long ago,
O nightingale and cuckoo! it was meet
O pleasant Wind, whose breathings softly pant,
O Thou that madest Scotland, haugh and hill
O where is peace in all the lovely land?
O worthy artist, in my chair
Of all the roamin' jacks that yet to Farranfore kem over,
Of star-lit stormy years the ceaseless flow
Off with it, old fellow, before you start!
Oft to this isle when earth was young
Oh let us haste to his grave, let us scatter rich garlands of flowers!
Oh love, as long as love you can!
Oh yes! I knew you loved me,
Oh! if these songs of mine were
Oh, I would bear thee, my love, my bride,
Oh, if thy white lily fingers
Oh, maybe it was yesterday, or fifty years ago!
Oh, swear not, only kiss me now,--
Oh, the gallant fisher's life,
Oh, the sweet lies lurk in kisses!
Oh, were I but the footstool, where
Oh, would all the anguish I suffer
On the fourteenth October, at Jena town--
On the verge of the far horizon
On to the strife of Car and Song
Once more, once more again
Once upon my life's dark pathway,
One hour, and 'twill be numbered with the past,
One moment listen, guardian fair
One soft glance from your eyes, proud Goddess-love!--
Open the window--for the night is hot;
Orpheus' lute it warbled well,
Ould Sir Maurice's youngest daughther, do I mind her, Sir, did ye say?
Our deepest joy in silence flows,
Our life's profoundest joy and sorrowing,
Out of doors the moon is sinking
Outside the blast is making riot,
Outside the town there's April shine
Over here in England I'm helpin' with the hay,
Over my grave let the green grass grow