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| Author | Title | First Line | Edward Lear | A Was Once an Apple Pie | A was once an apple pie, Pidy, Widy | Henry Francis Lyte | Abide with Me | Abide with me! fast falls the eventide; | Walt Whitman | Aboard at a Ship's Helm | Aboard at a ship's helm, a young steersman steering with care | Leigh Hunt | Abou Ben Adhem | Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) awoke one night from a deep dream of peace | Hilda Conkling | About My Dreams | The babies that have no mothers any more. | Hilda Conkling | About My Dreams | Now the flowers are all folded | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Absence | Good-night, my love, for I have dreamed of thee | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Accountability | Folks ain't got no right to censuah othah folks about dey habits | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Adonais | I weep for Adonais—he is dead | Cecil Frances Alexander | The Adoration of the Wise Men | Saw you never in the twilight, when the sun had left the skies | Hilda Conkling | Adventure | I went slowly through the wood of shadows | William Shakespeare | Adversity | Sweet are the uses of adversity, | William Blake | Advice of the Popes Who Succeeded the Age of Raphael | Degrade first the Arts if you'd Mankind degrade | Paul Laurence Dunbar | After a Visit | I be'n down in ole Kentucky | Robert Frost | After Apple-picking | My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree | Alfred Noyes | After Rain | Listen! On sweetening air | Paul Laurence Dunbar | After the Quarrel | So we, who've supped the self-same cup | Thomas Bailey Aldrich | After the Rain | The rain has ceased, and in my room | William Makepeace Thackeray | After the Storm | And when,—its force expended, the harmless storm was ended | Paul Laurence Dunbar | After While | I think that though the clouds be dark | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Afternoon on a Hill | I will be the gladdest thing | Michael Drayton | Agincourt | Fair stood the wind for France | William Blake | Ah! Sun-flower | Ah, sunflower, weary of time, who countest the steps of the sun | James Russell Lowell | Aladdin | When I was a beggarly boy | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Alastor | Earth, Ocean, Air, beloved brotherhood! | A. A. Milne | The Alchemist | There lives an old man at the top of the street | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Alice | Know you, winds that blow your course | William Wordsworth | Alice Fell, or, Poverty | The post-boy drove with fierce career, | Anonymous | Alison | Bytuene Mershe ant Averil | Anonymous | All Busy | The cock's on the house-top, blowing his horn; | Walter de la Mare | All But Blind | All but blind in his chambered hole gropes for worms the four-clawed Mole | Christina Georgina Rossetti | All the Bells Were Ringing | All the bells were ringing, and all the birds were singing | Cecil Frances Alexander | All Things Bright and Beautiful | All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small | John Keble | All Things Bright and Beautiful | All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small | John Greenleaf Whittier | All's Well | The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake | Sir Walter Scott | Allen-a-Dale | Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning | Rachel Lyman Field | Almost | There are things you almost see in the woods of evening | Walter de la Mare | Alone | A very old woman lives in yon house. | Richard Edwardes | Amantium Irae | In going to my naked bed as one that would have slept | Samuel Francis Smith | America | My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty | Joseph Rodman Drake | The American Flag | When Freedom from her mountain height | Beatrix Potter | An Amiable Guinea-Pig | There once was an amiable guinea-pig | Robert Browning | Among the Rocks | Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth | Anonymous | An Ancient Christmas Carol | He came all so still, where His mother was, | Lord Byron | And Thou Art Dead | And thou art dead, as young and fair | Robert Browning | Andrea del Sarto | But do not let us quarrel any more | William Blake | The Angel | I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? | Samuel Lover | The Angel's Whisper | A baby was sleeping; its mother was weeping; | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Angels | Angels at the foot | Charles Lamb | Anger | Anger in its time and place | Henry van Dyke | The Angler's Reveille | What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, | Christopher Morley | Animal Crackers | Animal crackers and cocoa to drink | Rachel Lyman Field | The Animal Store | If I had a hundred dollars to spend | Edgar Allan Poe | Annabel Lee | It was many and many a year ago in a kingdom by the sea | William Douglas | Annie Laurie | Maxwelton braes are bonnie where early fa's the dew | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Answer to a Child's Question | Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove, | Anonymous | The Ant and the Cricket | A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing | Paul Laurence Dunbar | An Ante-Bellum Sermon | We is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs | William Cullen Bryant | The Antiquity of Freedom | O Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream | Lord Byron | Apostrophe to the Ocean | Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll! | Robert Browning | Apparitions | Such a starved bank of moss, till, that May-morn, | Sir Thomas Wyatt | The Appeal | And wilt thou leave me thus! Say nay, say nay, for shame! | Hilda Conkling | The Apple-Jelly-Fish-Tree | Down in the depths of the sea | Beatrix Potter | Appley Dapply | Appley Dapply, a little brown mouse | J. B. Gustafson | April | My name is April, sir, and I often laugh, as often cry; | Sara Teasdale | April | The roofs are shining from the rain, | Anonymous | April | When April was asked whether she could bring reliable weather | Ralph Waldo Emerson | April and May | April cold with dropping rain | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | An April Day | When the warm sun, that brings, seedtime and harvest, has returned again, | Emily Huntington Miller | April Fools | Shy little pansies tucked away to sleep | Robert Loveman | April Rain | It isn't raining rain to me, | William Shakespeare | Ariel's Song | Come unto these yellow sands, and then take hands | William Shakespeare | Ariel's Song from The Tempest | Where the bee sucks, there suck I: | Robert Louis Stevenson | Armies in the Fire | The lamps now glitter down the street | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | James Montgomery | Arnold von Winkelried | "Make way for liberty!" he cried, | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Arrow and the Song | I shot an arrow into the air | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Arsenal at Springfield | This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling, | Emily Dickinson | As Children Bid the Guest Goodnight | As children bid the guest good-night, and then reluctant turn, | Anonymous | As I Sat Under a Sycamore Tree | As I sat under a sycamore tree | Anonymous | As Joseph Was A-Walking | AS Joseph was a-walking | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Ask Me No More | Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; | Rudyard Kipling | An Astrologer's Song | To the Heavens above us O look and behold | Rudyard Kipling | At His Execution | I am made all things to all men—Hebrew, Roman, and Greek— | A. A. Milne | At Home | I want a soldier (A soldier in a busby) | Rachel Lyman Field | At the Bank | All that I can ever see even when I stand | Robert Louis Stevenson | At the Sea-Side | When I was down beside the sea a wooden spade they gave to me | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Rachel Lyman Field | At the Theater | The sun was bright when we went in | A. A. Milne | At the Zoo | There are lions and roaring tigers, and enormous camels and things | William Makepeace Thackeray | At the Zoo | First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black | William Blake | From Auguries of Innocence | To see a world in a grain of sand | James Ferguson | Auld Daddy Darkness | Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole | Robert Burns | Auld Lang Syne | Should auld acquaintance be forgot, | Rachel Lyman Field | Aunt Emmeline | She's aunt to nearly half the town | Robert Louis Stevenson | Auntie's Skirts | Whenever Auntie moves around her dresses make a curious sound | illustrated by Myrtle Sheldon | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Edmund Spenser | Autumn | Then came the autumn all in yellow clad | Emily Dickinson | Autumn | The morns are meeker than they were, | Robert Louis Stevenson | Autumn Fires | In the other gardens, and all up the vale, | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Anonymous | An Autumn Riddle | I know a little creature in a green bed, | Hilda Conkling | Autumn Song | I made a ring of leaves on the autumn grass: | John Greenleaf Whittier | Autumn Thoughts | Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Autumn—A Dirge | The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, | Hugh Miller | The Babie | Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes | Jeremiah Eames Rankin | The Babie | Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes | Edith M. Thomas | Babouscka | Babouscka sits before the fire, upon a winter's night | George MacDonald | The Baby | Where did you come from, baby dear? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Baby | Baby cry—Oh fie!— | Theodore Tilton | Baby Bye | Baby Bye, here's a fly | Lydia Avery Coonley Ward | Baby Corn | A happy mother stalk of corn held close a baby ear | Edith Nesbit | Baby Seed Song | Little brown seed, oh! little brown brother | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Baby's Cradle | A baby's cradle with no baby in it | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Baby's Riches | My baby has a father and a mother | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Baccalaureate Hymn | Thou great offended God of love and kindness | A. A. Milne | Bad Sir Brian Botany | Sir Brian had a battleaxe with great big knobs on | Geoffrey Chaucer | Balade | Hyd, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Ballad | I know my love is true, and oh the day is fair | Violo Roseboro | A Ballad for a Boy | When George the Third was reigning, a hundred years ago | Alfred Noyes | Ballad of Old Japan | In old Japan, by creek and bay | Rudyard Kipling | The Ballad of the "Clampherdown" | It was our war-ship Clampherdown | Richard Garnett | The Ballad of the Boat | The stream was smooth as glass; we said, "Arise, and let's away!" | Edna St. Vincent Millay | The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver | "Son," said my mother, when I was knee-high | Sara Teasdale | A Ballad of Two Knights | Two knights rode forth at early dawn | Anonymous | Balow | Balow my babe, lie still and sleep! | Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Banjo Song | Oh, dere's lots o' keer an' trouble | Robert Burns | The Banks o' Doon | Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, | Robert Burns | Bannockburn | Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled | John Greenleaf Whittier | Barbara Frietchie | Up from the meadows rich with corn | James Whitcomb Riley | A Barefoot Boy | A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play— | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Barefoot Boy | Blessings on thee, little man | Rachel Lyman Field | Barefoot Days | In the morning, very early | Sir Philip Sidney | The Bargain | My true love hath my heart, and I have his | Sydney Lanier | Barnacles | My soul is sailing through the sea | Alfred Noyes | The Barrel-Organ | There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street | Alfred Noyes | From The Barrel-Organ | There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street | Sara Teasdale | Barter | Life has loveliness to sell | E. V. Lucas | The Basket-Makers | The ordinary merchant lives just like you or I | Julia Ward Howe | Battle Hymn of the Republic | Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord | Robert Southey | The Battle of Blenheim | It was a summer's evening | Thomas Campbell | The Battle of the Baltic | Of Nelson and the North sing the glorious day's renown | William Cowper | Beau's Reply | Sir, when I flew to seize the bird in spite of your command | Jane Taylor | Beautiful Things | Beautiful faces are those that wear | Anthony Munday | Beauty Bathing | Beauty sat bathing by a spring | Alfred Noyes | Beauty in Darkness | Beauty in darkness, ivory-white | Samuel Daniel | Beauty, Time, and Love Sonnet I |
Fair is my Love and cruel as she's fair | Samuel Daniel | Beauty, Time, and Love Sonnet II |
My spotless love hovers with purest wings | Samuel Daniel | Beauty, Time, and Love Sonnet III |
And yet I cannot reprehend the flight | Samuel Daniel | Beauty, Time, and Love Sonnet IV |
When men shall find thy flow'r, thy glory, pass | Samuel Daniel | Beauty, Time, and Love Sonnet V |
Beauty, sweet Love, is like the morning dew | Samuel Daniel | Beauty, Time, and Love Sonnet VI |
I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read | Samuel Daniel | Beauty, Time, and Love Sonnet VII |
Let others sing of Knights and Paladines | Emily Dickinson | Beclouded | The sky is low, the clouds are mean, | Robert Louis Stevenson | Bed in Summer | In winter I get up at night and dress by yellow candle-light | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Lord Rosslyn | Bed-Time | 'Tis bed-time; say your hymn, and bid "Good night" | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Bee and the Flower | The bee buzzed up in the heat | Emily Dickinson | The Bee Is Not Afraid of Me | The bee is not afraid of me, I know the butterfly; | Walter de la Mare | The Bees' Song | Thousandz of thornz there be | A. A. Milne | Before Tea | Emmeline has not been seen for more than a week | Thomas Bailey Aldrich | Before the Rain | We knew it would rain, for all the morn | Rudyard Kipling | From The Beginning of the Armadillos | I've never sailed the Amazon | Ralph Waldo Emerson | The Bell | I love thy music, mellow bell | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Bells | "Ding a ding," the sweet bells sing | Hilda Conkling | Bells | There is going to be the sound of bells | Edgar Allan Poe | The Bells | Hear the sledges with the bells—Silver Bells | Edgar Allan Poe | From The Bells | Hear the sledges with the bells—Silver Bells | John Greenleaf Whittier | Benedicite | God's love and peace be with thee, where | Alexander Scott | A Bequest of His Heart | Hence, heart, with her that must depart | Walter de la Mare | Berries | There was an old woman went blackberry picking | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | The Best Thing in the World | What's the best thing in the world? June-rose, by May-dew impearled | Anonymous | Bethlehem | A little child, a shining star | Anonymous | Bethlehem of Judea | A little child, a shining star | Felicia Dorothea Hemans | The Better Land | "I hear thee speak of a better land, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Beyond the Years | Beyond the years the answer lies | Juliana Horatia Ewing | Big Smith | Are you a Giant, great big man, or is your real name Smith? | Anonymous | Bimble, Bamble, Bumble | There was an old woman who rode on a broom, | Robert Frost | Birches | When I see birches bend to left and right | Emily Dickinson | A Bird Came Down the Walk | A bird came down the walk: he did not know I saw | Hilda Conkling | Bird of Paradise | I was walking in a meadow of Paradise | Laura E. Richards | Bird Song | The robin sings of willow-buds | Anonymous | A Bird's Experience | I lived first in a little house and lived there very well; | Edith Nesbit | Bird's Song in Spring | The silver birch is a dainty lady, she wears a satin gown | Mary Mapes Dodge | Birdies with Broken Wings | Birdies with broken wings, hide from each other | Mary Howitt | Birds in Summer | How pleasant the life of a bird must be, | Anonymous | Birthdays | Monday's child is fair of face | Robert Browning | Bishop Blougram's Apology | No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Blackbird | O blackbird! sing me something well: | Laurence Alma-Tadema | A Blessing for the Blessed | When the sun has left the hill-top and the daisy fringe is furled | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Blight | Hard seeds of hate I planted | Colley Cibber | The Blind Boy | O, say, what is that thing called Light | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Blind from My Birth | Blind from my birth, where flowers are springing | Rachel Lyman Field | The Blind Man | The Blind Man on our corner | John Godfrey Saxe | The Blind Men and the Elephant | It was six men of Indostan to learning much inclined | Robert Louis Stevenson | Block City | What are you able to build with your blocks? | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | William Shakespeare | The Blossom | On a day—alack the day!— | William Blake | The Blossom | Merry, merry sparrow! Under leaves so green | Hilda Conkling | Blossoms | The blossoms will be gone in the winter: | William Shakespeare | Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind | Blow, blow thou winter wind | Anonymous | Blow, Northern Wind | Ichot a burde in boure bryht | Anonymous | Blow, Wind, Blow | Blow, wind, blow! and go, mill, go! | William Allingham | Blowing Bubbles | See the pretty planet! Floating sphere! | Robert Henryson | The Bludy Serk | This hinder yeir I hard be tald | Rachel Lyman Field | Blue | There at the old wood's edge I saw a bluebird fly | Francis Miles Finch | The Blue and the Gray | By the flow of the inland river whence the fleets of iron have fled | Rachel Lyman Field | Blue Flowers | Violets in April, forget-me-nots in May | Hilda Conkling | Blue Grass | Blue grass flowering in the field | Susan Hartley Swett | The Blue Jay | O Blue Jay up in the maple-tree | Rudyard Kipling | Blue Roses | Roses red and roses white | Anonymous | The Bluebell of Scotland | Oh where! and oh where! is your Highland laddie gone? | Robert Frost | Blueberries | You ought to have seen what I saw on my way to the village, through Patterson's pasture to-day | Hilda Conkling | Bluebird | Oh bluebird with light red breast, | Emily Huntington Miller | The Bluebird | I know the song that the bluebird is singing | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Boats Sail on the Rivers | Boats sail on the rivers, and ships sail on the seas | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Bob Cherry | Playing at bob cherry, Tom and Nell and Hugh | Anonymous | Bobby Shafto | Bobby Shafto's gone to sea, with silver buckles on his knee, | Clinton Scollard | Bobolink | Bobolink, he is here!, spink-a-chink! | Robert Frost | Bond and Free | Love has earth to which she clings | Sir Walter Scott | The Bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee | To the Lords o' Convention 't was Claver'se who spoke | Margaret Johnson | A Bonny Boat | One, two, three! A bonny boat I see | Emily Dickinson | A Book | There is no frigate like a book | Robert Browning | Boot and Saddle | Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! | Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Border Ballad | Oh, I haven't got long to live, for we all | Eugene Field | The Bottle-Tree | A Bottle-Tree bloometh in Winkyway land | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Bow That Bridges Heaven | Boats sail on the rivers and ships sail on the seas | Anonymous | Bow-Wow-Wow | Bow-wow-wow! It's the great watch dog. | William Allingham | The Boy | The Boy from his bedroom window look'd over the little town | Ann Taylor | The Boy and the Sheep | "Lazy sheep, pray tell me why in the pleasant field you lie | Rudyard Kipling | A Boy Scouts' Patrol Song | These are our regulations | Anonymous | The Boy Who Never Told a Lie | Once there was a little boy, with curly hair and pleasant eye | James Whitcomb Riley | A Boy's Mother | My mother she's so good to me, ef I was good as I could be | James Hogg | A Boy's Song | Where the pools are bright and deep | Emily Dickinson | The Brain Is Wider Than the Sky | The Brain—is wider than the Sky—For—put them side by side | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Bread and Milk for Breakfast | Bread and milk for breakfast and woolen frocks to wear | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Break, Break, Break | Break, break, break, on thy cold gray stones, O sea! | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Brewing of Soma | The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke | George Chapman | Bridal Song | O come, soft rest of cares! come, Night! | Jean Ingelow | The Brides of Enderby | The old mayor climb'd the belfry tower | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Bridge | I stood on the bridge at midnight, as the clocks were striking the hour | John Keats | Bright Star! Would I Were Steadfast | Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art— | Rudyard Kipling | The Broken Men | For things we never mention | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Brook | I come from haunts of coot and hern, | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Brook | I chatter over stony ways, in little sharps and trebles | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Brook | I chatter, chatter, as I flow to join the brimming river | Hilda Conkling | The Brook and Its Children | "O brook, running down your mossy way, | James Whitcomb Riley | The Brook Song | Little brook! Little brook! You have such a happy look | Lucy Larcom | The Brown Thrush | There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree, | Robert Frost | Brown's Descent | Brown lived at such a lofty farm | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Brownie | Brownie, Brownie, let down your milk | A. A. Milne | Brownie | In a corner of the bedroom is a great big curtain | A. A. Milne | Buckingham Palace | They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Builders | All are architects of Fate | Anonymous | Bumble-Bee and Clover | Came a roaring bumble-bee, pockets full of money | James Whitcomb Riley | The Bumblebee | You better not fool with a Bumblebee! | John B. Tabb | A Bunch of Roses | The rosy mouth and rosy toe of little baby brother | Walter de la Mare | Bunches of Grapes | "Bunches of grapes," says Timothy: | John Farrar | Bundles | A bundle is a funny thing | Charles Wolfe | The Burial of Sir John Moore | Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note | Juliana Horatia Ewing | The Burial of the Linnet | Found in the garden dead in his beauty— | Robert Southwell | The Burning Babe | As I in hoary winter's night | Rachel Lyman Field | Burning Leaves | Whenever leaves are burning and the blue and bitter smoke | Christina Georgina Rossetti | But Give Me Holly, Bold and Jolly | But give me holly, bold and jolly | Anonymous | Buttercup | What makes the buttercup so yellow? | Eugene Field | Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-Me-Not | Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-Me-Not—these three bloomed in a garden spot | Mary Howitt | Buttercups and Daisies | Buttercups and daisies, oh, the pretty flowers | Alfred Noyes | Butterflies | Sun-child, as you watched the rain | Hilda Conkling | Butterfly | Butterfly, I like the way you wear your wings. | Hilda Conkling | Butterfly | As I walked through my garden I saw a butterfly light on a flower. | William Lisle Bowles | The Butterfly and the Bee | Methought I heard a butterfly say to a labouring bee | Rudyard Kipling | From The Butterfly That Stamped | There was never a Queen like Balkis | Emily Dickinson | The Butterfly's Day | From Cocoon forth a Butterfly, as Lady from her Door. | Thomas Moore | By Bendemeer's Stream | There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, | Reginald Heber | By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill | By cool Siloam's shady rill how sweet the lily grows! | Hilda Conkling | By Lake Champlain | I was bare as a leaf | Robert Browning | By the Fire-Side | How well I know what I mean to do | Paul Laurence Dunbar | By the Stream | By the stream I dream in calm delight, and watch as in a glass | Edward Lear | Calico Pie | Calico Pie, the little Birds fly | Alfred Noyes | The Call of the Spring | Come choose your road and away, my lad | Lydia H. Sigourney | The Camel's Nose | Once in his shop a workman wrought with languid head and listless thought | Anonymous | The Campbells Are Comin' | The Campbells are comin', Oho, Oho, | Anonymous | Can You? | Can you put the spider's web back in place that once has been swept away | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Can't | Seldom "can't," seldom "don't" | William Wilfred Campbell | A Canadian Folk-Song | The doors are shut, the windows fast | Elizabeth Turner | The Canary | Mary had a little bird | Rachel Lyman Field | Captain Enoch | Captain Enoch is small and spare | Rachel Lyman Field | Captain Jim | There's not a man along the wharves | Frederick Marryat | The Captain Stood on the Carronade | The Captain stood on the carronade—"First lieutenant," says he | James T. Fields | The Captain's Daughter | We were crowded in the cabin | John Lyly | Cards and Kisses | Cupid and my Campasbe played | John Masefield | Cargoes | Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir | William Canton | Carol | When the herds were watching | Kenneth Grahame | Carol | Villagers all, this frosty tide | William Morris | Carol | Outlanders, whence come ye last> | Anonymous | Carol of the Birds | Whence comes this rush of wings afar | William A. Muhlenberg | Carol, Brothers, Carol | Carol, brothers, carol, carol joyfully | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | From Casa Guidi Windows | I heard last night a little child go singing | Felicia Dorothea Hemans | Casabianca | The boy stood on the burning deck, whence all but him had fled | Ernest Lawrence Thayer | Casey at the Bat | The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day | Grantland Rice | Casey's Revenge | There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Castle-Builder | A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks | Rudyard Kipling | From The Cat That Walked by Himself | Pussy can sit by the fire and sing | Rachel Lyman Field | The Catbird | Orchard, meadow and garden through | Anonymous | A Catch by the Hearth | Sing we all merrily Christmas is here | Anonymous | The Caterpillar | A tired caterpillar went to sleep one day | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Caterpillar | Brown and furry caterpillar in a hurry | Anonymous | The Caterpillar | I creep upon the ground, and the children say, | Walter Thornbury | The Cavalier's Escape | Trample! trample! went the roan | Edmund Clarence Stedman | The Cavalry Charge | Our good steeds snuff the evening air | Anonymous | The Centipede's Dilemma | A centipede was happy quite | Robert Herrick | Ceremonies for Christmas | Come, bring with a noise my merry, merry boys | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Challenge of Thor | I am the God Thor, I am the War God, | Oliver Wendell Holmes | The Chambered Nautilus | This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign | Hilda Conkling | The Champlain Sandman | The Sandman comes pattering across the Bay: | Anonymous | Change About | There was an old man, who lived in a wood | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Change Has Come | The change has come, and Helen sleeps | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Changing Time | The cloud looked in at the window | Sydney Dobell | A Chanted Calendar | First came the primrose, on the bank high, | Katherine Tynan Hinkson | Chanticleer | Of all the birds from East to West | Celia Thaxter | Chanticleer | I wake! I feel the day is near | William Wordsworth | A Character | I marvel how Nature could ever find space | William Wordsworth | Character of the Happy Warrior | Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he that every man in arms should wish to be? | William Wordsworth | Characteristics of a Child Three Years Old | Loving she is, and tractable, though wild; | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Charge of the Light Brigade | Half a league, half a league, half a league onward | Henry Johnstone | A Charm To Call Sleep | Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Chaucer | An old man in a lodge within a park | Rachel Lyman Field | Checkerberries | Checkerberries, people call them | Anonymous | Cherries | Under the trees, the farmer said, smiling and shaking his wise old head | Hilda Conkling | Cherries Are Ripe | The cherry tree is red now; | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Cherry-Tree | Mother shake the cherry-tree | Anonymous | The Chestnut Burr | A wee little nut lay deep in its nest | Rachel Lyman Field | Chestnut Stands | Oh, every fall the chestnut men | Hilda Conkling | Chickadee | The chickadee in the appletree | Phoebe Cary | The Chicken's Mistake | A little downy chicken one day asked leave to go on the water | John B. Tabb | The Child | Long, long before the Babe could speak | Eugene Field | Child and Mother | O Mother-my-love, if you'll give me your hand | "A" | The Child and the Fairies | The woods are full of fairies! the trees are all alive | Sabine Baring-Gould | Child's Evening Prayer | Now the day is over, night is drawing nigh, | "A" | A Child's Fancy | O little flowers, you love me so, you could not do without me | Robert Burns | A Child's Grace | Some hae meat and canna eat | Algernon Charles Swinburne | A Child's Laughter | All the bells of heaven may ring, all the birds of heaven may sing | M. Betham Edwards | A Child's Prayer | God make my life a little light, | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | A Child's Thought of God | They say that God lives very high! | Lord Byron | Childe Harold's Farewell to England | Adieu, adieu! my native shore | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Children | Come to me, O ye children! | Walter de la Mare | The Children of Stare | Winter is fallen early on the house of Stare | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Children's Hour | Between the dark and the daylight | Rudyard Kipling | The Children's Song | Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Chill | What can lambkins do, all the keen night through? | William Blake | The Chimney Sweeper | A little black thing among the snow: Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe! | William Blake | The Chimney Sweeper | When my mother died I was very young, | Rachel Lyman Field | The China Dog | He lives by himself in a shelf in our hall | Rudyard Kipling | The Choice | To the Judge of Right and Wrong | Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Choice | They please me not—these solemn songs | George Eliot | The Choir Invisible | O, may I join the choir invisible of those immortal dead who live again | George Eliot | The Choir Invisible | O, may I join the choir invisible of those immortal dead who live again | Charles Lamb | Choosing a Name | I have got a new-born sister | A. A. Milne | The Christening | What shall I call my dear little dormouse? | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Christian Slave | A Christian! going, gone! | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Christmas Bells | I heard the bells on Christmas Day their old, familiar carols play | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Christmas Bells | I heard the bells on Christmas Day their old, familiar carols play | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Christmas Carol | In the bleak mid-winter, Frosty wind made moan, | Robert Herrick | Christmas Carol | What sweeter music can we bring | James Russell Lowell | A Christmas Carol | "What means this glory round our feet," | Josiah Gilbert Holland | A Christmas Carol | There's a song in the air! There's a star in the sky! | James Russell Lowell | A Christmas Carol | "What means this glory round our feet" | Anonymous | A Christmas Carol | God bless the master of this house | Sara Teasdale | Christmas Carol | The Kings they came from out the South | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Christmas Carol | The Shepherds had an angel, the wise man had a star | G. K. Chesterton | A Christmas Carol | The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Christmas Carol | Before the paling of the stars | George MacDonald | The Christmas Child | "Little one, who straight hast come | George MacDonald | Christmas Day and Every Day | Star high, Baby low | Lizette Woodworth Reese | A Christmas Folk-Song | The little Jesus came to town; The wind blew up, the wind blew down | Eliza Cook | The Christmas Holly | The holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay | Alfred Domett | A Christmas Hymn | It was the calm and silent night! | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Christmas Hymn | Love came down at Christmas | Eugene Field | Christmas Hymn | Sing, Christmas bells! | John Addington Symonds | A Christmas Lullaby | Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings | Margaret Deland | The Christmas Silence | Hushed are the pigeons cooing low on dusty rafters of the loft | Lydia Avery Coonley Ward | Christmas Song | Why do bells for Christmas ring? | Eugene Field | Christmas Song | Why do bells for Christmas ring? | Phillips Brooks | A Christmas Song | Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night | Richard Watson Gilder | The Christmas Tree in the Nursery | With wild surprise four great eyes | Robert Frost | Christmas Trees | The city had withdrawn into itself | Mary F. Butts | The Christmas Trees | There's a stir among the trees | Rose Fyleman | Christmas-Time | The church bells at Christmas-time ring all about the town | Mary Emily Bradley | A Chrysalis | My little Mädchen found one day | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Circumstance | Two children in two neighbor villages | Rudyard Kipling | Cities and Thrones and Powers | Cities and Thrones and Powers stand in Time's eye | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The City Child | Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander? | Rachel Lyman Field | City Lights | Into the endless dark the lights of the buildings shine | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The City Mouse and the Garden Mouse | The city mouse lives in a house—the garden mouse lives in a bower | Amy Lowell | The City of Falling Leaves | Leaves fall, brown leaves, yellow leaves streaked with brown | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A City Plum | A city plum is not a plum | Rachel Lyman Field | City Rain | Rain in the city! I love to see it fall | Edna St. Vincent Millay | City Trees | The trees along this city street | Charles and Mary Lamb | Cleanliness | Come, my little Robert, near—fie what filthy hands are here! | Walt Whitman | A Clear Midnight | This is thy hour, O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Clever Little Willie | Clever little Willie wee, bright-eyed, blue-eyed little fellow | William Blake | The Clod and the Pebble | 'Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care | Percy Bysshe Shelley | The Cloud | I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers | Sara Teasdale | The Cloud | I am a cloud in the heaven's height, | Percy Bysshe Shelley | From The Cloud | I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers | Hilda Conkling | Clouds | The clouds were gray all day. | Frank Dempster Sherman | Clouds | The sky is full of clouds to-day | Anonymous | The Clucking Hen | "Will you take a walk with me, my little wife, to-day? | Rachel Lyman Field | The Cobbler's | Shoes on counter, bench and shelf | Anonymous | Cock Robin's Death | Who killed Cock Robin? | Sara Teasdale | The Coin | Into my heart's treasury, I slipped a coin | Rudyard Kipling | Cold Iron | "Gold is for the mistress—silver for the maid— | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Colored Soldiers | If the muse were mine to tempt it | Anonymous | Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean | O Columbia, the gem of the ocean, the home of the brave and the free | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Columbian Ode | Four hundred years ago a tangled waste | Joaquin Miller | Columbus | Behind him lay the gray Azores, | Anonymous | Come Out to Play | Girls and boys, come out to play, the moon is shining as bright as day: | Walter de la Mare | Come! | From an island of the sea sounds a voice that summons me | George Cooper | Come, Little Leaves | "Come, little leaves," said the wind one day | Nora Perry | The Coming of Spring | There's something in the air that's new and sweet and rare | Anonymous | The Coming of Spring | The birds are coming home soon; I look for them every day; | Hilda Conkling | The Coming of the Great Bird | A boy was watching the water | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Comparison | The sky of brightest gray seems dark | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Compensation | Because I had loved so deeply | Henry Howard | Complaint of the Absence of Her Lover Being Upon the Sea | O happy dames! that may embrace the fruit of your delight | William Wordsworth | Composed Upon Westminster Bridge | Earth has not anything to show more fair | Sir Walter Raleigh | The Conclusion | Even such is Time, that takes in trust | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Concord Hymn | By the rude bridge that arched the flood, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Confidence | Uncle John, he makes me tired | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Conscience and Remorse | "Good-bye," I said to my conscience | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Consider | Consider the lilies of the field whose bloom is brief: | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Constancy to an Ideal Object | Since all that beat about in Nature's range | Edward Dyer | Contentment | My mind to me a kingdom is | Eugene Field | Contentment | Once on a time an old red hen | Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Coquette Conquered | Yes, my ha't's ez ha'd ez stone | James Gates Percival | The Coral Grove | Deep in the wave is a coral grove, | Robert Herrick | Corinna Going a-Maying | Get up, get up, for shame the blooming morn | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Corn Song | Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! | Mary Howitt | Corn-Fields | When on the breath of Autumn's breeze | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Corn-Stalk Fiddle | When the corn's all cut and the bright stalks shine | A. A. Milne | Corner-of-the-Street | Down by the corner of the street where the three roads meet | Sir Walter Scott | Coronach | He is gone on the mountain, | Dorothy Wordsworth | The Cottager to Her Infant | The days are cold, the nights are long | Alfred Noyes | Cotton-Wool | Shun the brush and shun the pen | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Courtship of Miles Standish | In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth, the land of the Pilgrims | Rudyard Kipling | The Covenant | We thought we ranked above the chance of ill | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Cow | The friendly cow all red and white, | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Frost | The Cow in Apple Time | Something inspires the only cow of late | Anna M. Wells | The Cow-Boy's Song | "Mooly cow, mooly cow, home from the wood they sent me to fetch you as fast as I could | Rudyard Kipling | From The Crab That Played with the Sea | China-going P.'s and O.'s pass Pau Amma's playground close | Anonymous | Crabbed Age and Youth | Crabbéd Age and Youth cannot live together | Isaac Watts | Cradle Hymn | Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber | Martin Luther | Cradle Hymn | Away in a manger, no crib for a bed | Thomas Bailey Aldrich | Cradle Song | Ere the moon begins to rise or a star to shine | Richard Watson Gilder | Cradle Song | In the embers shining bright | Anonymous | Cradle Song | Sleep, baby, sleep, our cottage vale is deep; | Thomas Dekker | A Cradle Song | Golden slumbers kiss your eyes | Nicholas Breton | A Cradle Song | Come little babe, come silly soul | William Blake | A Cradle Song | Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, dreaming in the joys of night; | William Blake | A Cradle Song | Sweet dreams, form a shade, o'er my lovely infant's head! | Elizabeth Prentiss | Cradle Song | Sleep, baby, sleep! Thy father's watching the sheep | Rachel Lyman Field | The Cranberry Pool | In the Pool at Cranberry not a root or pointed tree | Rachel Lyman Field | Cranberry Road | I'd like to be walking the Cranberry Road | James Whitcomb Riley | Craqueodoom | The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon | Robert Service | The Cremation of Sam McGee | There are strange things done in the midnight sun | William Cowper | The Cricket | Little inmate, full of mirth, chirping on my kitchen hearth | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Crossing the Bar | Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! | William Cullen Bryant | The Crowded Street | Let us move slowly through the street | Charles Lamb | Crumbs to the Birds | A bird appears a thoughtless thing | William Blake | The Crystal Cabinet | The Maiden caught me in the wild | Anonymous | Cuckoo Song | Sumer is icumen in | Rachel Lyman Field | The Cuckoo-Clock Shop | You can't see Time, but if you go | Anderson Alexander | Cuddle Doon | The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht | Anonymous | Cunning Bee | Said a little wandering maiden to a bee with honey laden, | Walter de la Mare | The Cupboard | I know a little cupboard with a teeny tiny key | Leigh Hunt | Cupid Drowned | T'other day as I was twining | Thomas Moore | Cupid Stung | Cupid once upon a bed of roses laid his weary head; | Rachel Lyman Field | Curly Hair | She must have curly thoughts, I know | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Currants on a Bush | Currants on a bush and figs upon a stem | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Curtain | Villain shows his indiscretion | Alfred Noyes | Daddy Fell Into the Pond | Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Daffadowndilly | Growing in the vale by the uplands hilly | Katharine Tynan Hinkson | Daffodil | Who passes down the wintry street? | William Wordsworth | The Daffodils | I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o'er vales and hills, | A. A. Milne | Daffodowndilly | She wore her yellow sun-bonnet | Anonymous | Daffy-Down-Dilly | Daffy-Down-Dilly has come up to town | Bliss Carman | Daisies | Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Daisies | Where innocent bright-eyed daisies are | Frank Dempster Sherman | Daisies | At evening when I go to bed | Walt Whitman | The Dalliance of the Eagles | Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) | Anonymous | Dame Duck's First Lecture on Education | Old Mother Duck has hatched a brood of ducklings, small and callow; | Rachel Lyman Field | Dancing | I cannot dance in a stuffy room to the music of a ball | Rachel Lyman Field | The Dancing Bear | Slowly he turns himself round and round | Hilda Conkling | Dandelion | O little soldier with the golden helmet | Anonymous | The Dandelion | O dandelion, yellow as gold, | Nellie M. Garabrant | Dandelion | There's a dandy little fellow, who dresses all in yellow | Helen Gray Cone | Dandelions | Upon a showery night and still, | Edmund Spenser | Daphnaida | What ever man he be, whose heavie minde | Edmund Spenser | From Daphnaida | She fell away in her first ages spring | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Daphne | Why do you follow me?—Any moment I can be | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Dawn | An angel, robed in spotless white | Sara Teasdale | Dawn | The greenish sky glows up in misty reds, | Emily Dickinson | Dawn | Not knowing when the dawn will come | Emily Dickinson | A Day | I'll tell you how the sun rose, | John Greenleaf Whittier | A Day | Talk not of sad November, when a day | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Day Is Done | The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of Night, | Ralph Waldo Emerson | The Day's Ration | When I was born, from all the seas of strength Fate filled a chalice | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Daybreak | Day had awakened all things that be, | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Daybreak | A wind came up out of the sea | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Days | Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Days Are Clear | The days are clear, day after day | Anonymous | The Days of the Month | Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; | Sarah Platt Greene | De Sheepfol' | De massa ob de sheepfol' dat guards de' sheepfol' bin | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Deacon Jones' Grievance | I've been watchin' of 'em, parson | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Dead | knock is at her door, but she is weak | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Dead in the Cold | Dead in the cold, a song-singing thrush | "A" | Deaf and Dumb | He lies on the grass, looking up to the sky | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Dear Old Woman in the Lane | The dear old woman in the lane Is sick and sore with pains and aches | Edna St. Vincent Millay | The Death of Autumn | When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes | Isaac McClellan | The Death of Napoleon | Wild was the night, yet a wilder night | William Cullen Bryant | The Death of the Flowers | The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, | Robert Frost | The Death of the Hired Man | Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Death of the Old Year | Full knee-deep lies the winter snow | John Keats | Dedication | Glory and loveliness have passed away | Alfred Noyes | Dedication | Thou whose deep ways are in the sea | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Dejection: An Ode | Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Delight | Roses blushing red and white | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Delinquent | Goo'-by, Jinks, I got to hump | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Departure | It's little I care what path I take | Henry Howard | Description of Spring | The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Deserted House | Life and Thought have gone away | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Deserted Plantation | Oh, de grubbin'-hoe's a-rustin' in de co'nah | Lord Byron | The Destruction of Sennacherib | The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold | Anonymous | Devotion | Fain would I change that note to which fond Love hath charm'd me | Hilda Conkling | The Dew-Light | The Dew-man comes over the mountains wide | Frank Dempster Sherman | A Dewdrop | Little drop of dew, like a gem you are; | Mary F. Butts | Dewdrops | A million little diamonds sparkled on the trees | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Diamond or a Coal? | A diamond or a coal? A diamond, if you please: | Beatrix Potter | Diggory, Diggory Delvet | Diggory, Diggory Delvet! A little old man in black velvet | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Dilettante: A Modern Type | He scribbles some in prose and verse | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Dinah Kneading Dough | I have seen full many a sight | Eugene Field | The Dinky Bird | In an ocean, 'way out yonder (As all sapinet people know) | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Dirge | Place this bunch of mignonette | G. W. Thornbury | Dirge on the Death of Oberon, the Fairy King | Toll the lilies' silver bells! | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Disappointed | An old man planted and dug and tended | Sarah Orne Jewett | Discontent | Down in a field, one day in June | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Discovered | Seen you down at chu'ch las' night | A. A. Milne | Disobedience | James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree | Edmund Spenser | A Ditty | See where she sits upon the grassie greene | William Cowper | The Diverting History of John Gilpin | John Gilpin was a citizen, of credit and renown, | William Blake | The Divine Image | To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, | Anonymous | Do the Best You Can | If I was a cobbler, it should be my pride | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Dog Lies in His Kennel | The dog lies in his kennel and Puss purrs on the rug | William Brighty Rands | Dolladine | This is her picture—Dolladine—the beautifullest doll that ever was seen! | Phœbe Cary | Don't Give Up | If you've tried and have not won, | Daniel Clement Colesworthy | Don't Kill the Birds | Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds, that sing about your door | Rachel Lyman Field | Doorbells | You never know with a doorbell who may be ringing it | A. A. Milne | The Dormouse and the Doctor | There once was a Dormouse who lived in a bed | John Keats | The Dove | I had a dove, and the sweet dove died | Matthew Arnold | Dover Beach | The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair | Helen Hunt Jackson | Down to Sleep | November woods are bare and still; | William Shakespeare | The Downfall of Wolsey | Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! | Hilda Conkling | Dozens | There's dozens full of dandelions | William Blake | A Dream | Once a dream did weave a shade, o'er my angel-guarded bed | Hilda Conkling | Dream | When I slept, I thought I was upon the mountain-tops | James Whitcomb Riley | A Dream | I dreamed I was a spider | Walter de la Mare | Dream Song | Sunlight, moonlight, twilight, starlight | Sara Teasdale | Dream Song | I plucked a snow-drop in the spring, | Alfred Noyes | The Dream-Child's Invitation | Once upon a time!—Ah, now the light is burning dimly | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Dreams | What dreams we have and how they fly | William Brighty Rands | Dressing the Doll | This is the way we dress the Doll:— | Kate Putnam Osgood | Driving Home the Cows | Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Drovers | Through heat and cold, and shower, and sun, still onward cheerly driving! | Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Drowsy Day | The air is dark, the sky is gray | Eugene Field | The Drum | I'm a beautiful red, red drum | Edward Lear | The Duck and the Kangaroo | Said the Duck to the Kangaroo | Kenneth Grahame | Ducks' Ditty | All along the backwater, through the rushes tall | Eugene Field | The Duel | The gingham dog and the calico cat | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Dumb Soldier | When the grass was closely mown, walking on the lawn alone | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Sara Teasdale | Dusk | The city's street, a roaring blackened stream | Sara Teasdale | Dusk in Autumn | The moon is like a scimitar, | Sara Teasdale | Dusk in June | Evening, and all the birds, in a chorus of shimmering sound | Bliss Carman | The Dustman | "Dustman, dustman! Through the deserted square he cries | Fred E. Weatherly | The Dustman | When the toys are growing weary | Emily Dickinson | The Duties of the Wind are Few | The duties of the Wind are few— | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Duty | So nigh is grandeur to our dust, | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Dying Swan | The plain was grassy, wild and bare, | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Each and All | Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Eagle | He clasps the crag with crooked hands; | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Eagle | He clasps the crag with hookèd hands | William Wordsworth | The Eagle and the Dove | Shade of Caractacus, if spirits love | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Early Birds | "Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!" crows the cock before the morn | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Early Spring | Once more the Heavenly Power makes all things new, | Alfred Noyes | Earth and Her Birds | Brave birds that climb those blue, dawn-tinted towers | Walter de la Mare | Earth Folk | The cat she walks on padded claws | William Blake | Earth's Answer | Earth raised up her head, from the darkness dread and drear | Hilda Conkling | Easter | On Easter morn, up the faint cloudy sky | Edmund Spenser | Easter | Most glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day | Paul Laurence Dunbar | An Easy-Goin' Feller | Ther' ain't no use in all this strife | William Blake | The Echoing Green | The sun does arise, and make happy the skies; | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Elaine | Oh, come again to Astolat! | Edgar Allan Poe | Eldorado | Gaily bedight, a gallant knight | Thomas Gray | Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard | The curfew tolls the knell of parting day | Hilaire Belloc | The Elephant | When people call this beast to mind | Rudyard Kipling | From The Elephant's Child | I keep six honest serving-men | Laura E. Richards | Eletelephony | Once there was an elephant, who tried to use the telephant | Oliver Herford | Elf and Dormouse | Under a toadstool crept a wee Elf | Rachel Lyman Field | The Elf Tree | Whenever I pass a gnarly tree | Alfred Noyes | The Elfin Artist | In a glade of an elfin forest when Sussex was Eden-new | Rachel Lyman Field | The Elfin Organ-Grinder | He travels the winding roads of Elfland | George Herbert | The Elixir | Teach me, my God and King, in all things Thee to see, | W. S. Gilbert | Ellen M'Jones Aberdeen | MacPhairson Clonglocketty Angus M'Clan | Rachel Lyman Field | Elves and Apple Trees | Elves love best of all to run | Rachel Lyman Field | Elves, Go Fetch Your Lanterns | Elves, go fetch your lanterns: light up every pine cone | Christina Georgina Rossetti | An Emerald Is as Green as Grass | An emerald is as green as grass; a ruby red as blood; | W. S. Gilbert | Emily, John, James, and I | Emily Jane was a nursery maid | Alfred Lord Tennyson | England and America in 1782 | O thou that sendest out the man | Rudyard Kipling | The English Flag | Winds of the World, give answer? They are whimpering to and fro | John Boyle O'Reilly | Ensign Epps, the Color Bearer | Ensign Epps, at the battle of Flanders, | Hilda Conkling | Envoy | If I am happy, and you, and there are things to do, | Mary Lamb | Envy | This rose-tree is not made to bear | Robert Browning | An Epistle | Karshish, the picker-up of learning's crumbs | Stephen Hawes | An Epitaph | O mortal folk, you may behold and see | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Epitaph | Stop, Christian passer-by!—Stop, child of God | William Cowper | Epitaph on a Hare | Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, | Samuel Rogers | An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast | Tread lightly here; for here, 'tis said when piping winds are hush'd around | Edmund Spenser | Epithalamion | Ye learnéd sisters which have oftentimes | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Ere Sleep Comes Down To Soothe the Weary Eyes | Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes, which all the day with ceaseless care have sought | Robert Louis Stevenson | Escape at Bedtime | The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Alexander Pope | An Essay on Criticism: Part I | 'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Eternal Goodness | O friends! with whom my feet have trod | William Blake | Eternity | He who binds to himself a joy, does the winged life destroy; | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Evangeline | This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Eve of Election | From gold to gray our mild sweet day of Indian Summer fades too soon | John Keats | The Eve of St. Agnes | St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was! | Lord Byron | The Eve of Waterloo | There was a sound of revelry by night | Robert Browning | Evelyn Hope | Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! | Hilda Conkling | Evening | Now it is dusky, and the hermit thrush and the black and white warbler | John Milton | Evening | Now came still evening on, and twilight gray | Sir Walter Scott | Evening | The sun upon the lake is low, the wild birds hush their song | Emily Dickinson | The Evening | The cricket sang, and set the sun, | Reginald Heber | Evening Hymn | God that madest Earth and Heaven | Thomas Ken | An Evening Hymn | All praise to thee, my God, this night | Anonymous | Evening Red and Morning Gray | Evening red and morning gray send the traveler on his way: | John Vance Cheney | Evening Songs | The birds have hid, the winds are low, | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Excelsior | The shades of night were falling fast | Thomas Campbell | Exile of Erin | There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Exiled | Searching my heart for its true sorrow | Rudyard Kipling | The Explanation | Love and Death once ceased their strife | Robert Frost | The Exposed Nest | You were forever finding some new play | William Wordsworth | Expostulation and Reply | "Why, William, on that old grey stone, | John Keats | Extracts from an Opera: My Lady's Qualities | Oh, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts! | John Keats | Extracts from an Opera: Asleep | Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl! | John Keats | Extracts from an Opera: Folly's Song | When wedding fiddles are a-playing | John Keats | Extracts from an Opera: O! Were I One | O! were I one of the Olympian twelve | John Keats | Extracts from an Opera: Song | The stranger lighted from his steed | John Keats | Extracts from an Opera: The Daisy's Song | The sun, with his great eye, sees not so much as I | Ralph Waldo Emerson | A Fable | The mountain and the squirrel had a quarrel | Sara Teasdale | The Faery Forest | The faery forest glimmered | George Peele | Fair and Fair | Fair and fair, and twice so fair, as fair as any may be | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Fair To See | Oh, fair to see—Bloom-laden cherry tree | William Allingham | The Fairies | Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen | Hilda Conkling | Fairies | I cannot see fairies. I dream them. | Hilda Conkling | Fairies Again | Fairies dancing in the woods at night | Rose Fyleman | Fairies at the Bottom of Our Garden | There are fairies at the bottom of our garden! It's not so very, very far away | Rose Fyleman | The Fairies Have Never a Penny to Spend | The fairies have never a penny to spend | Mary Howitt | The Fairies of the Caldon Low | "And where have you been, my Mary | Margaret Deland | The Fairies' Shopping | Where do you think the Fairies go to buy their blankets ere the snow? | William Blake | The Fairy | Come hither my sparrows, my little arrows | Eugene Field | Fairy and Child | Oh, listen, little Dear-My-Soul | Anonymous | The Fairy Artist | Oh, there is a little artist | Robert Louis Stevenson | Fairy Bread | Come up here, O dusty feet! | illustrated by Myrtle Sheldon | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Rachel Lyman Field | Fairy Buttons | Underneath the moss and the brown pine needles | Joseph Rodman Drake | Fairy Dawn | 'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell | Robert Bird | The Fairy Folk | Come cuddle close in daddy's coat beside the fire so bright | Joseph Rodman Drake | A Fairy in Armor | He put his acorn helmet on | Anonymous | The Fairy Queen | Come, follow, follow me, you fairy elves that be; | William Allingham | The Fairy Shoemaker | Little cowboy, what have you heard | John Keats | Fairy Song | Shed no tear! O shed no tear! | Helen Gray Cone | A Fairy Tale | There stands by the wood path shaded | Anonymous | The Fairy Thrall | On gossamer nights when the moon is low, | Rose Fyleman | A Fairy Went A-Marketing | A fairy went a-marketing—she bought a little fish | Alice Cary | Fairy-Folk | The story-books have told you of the fairy-folk so nice | Anonymous | The Faithless Shepherdess | While that the sun with his beams hot | Anonymous | Falling Snow | See the pretty snowflakes falling from the sky | Rachel Lyman Field | Familiarity | Those who live by the sea too familiar grow with the changing ways of it | John Keats | Fancy | Ever let the Fancy roam, pleasure never is at home | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Far—Far—Away | What sight so lured him thro' the fields he knew | Lord Byron | Fare Thee Well | Fare thee well! and if for ever | Matthew Arnold | A Farewell | My horse's feet beside the lake | Charles Kingsley | A Farewell | My fairest child, I have no song to give you | Alfred Lord Tennyson | A Farewell | Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, | Alfred Lord Tennyson | A Farewell | Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Farewell of a Virginia Slave Mother to Her Daughters Sold into Southern Bondage | Gone, gone,—sold and gone | George Peele | A Farewell to Arms | His golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd | Robert Louis Stevenson | Farewell to the Farm | The coach is at the door at last | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | John Townsend Trowbridge | Farm-Yard Song | Over the hill the farm-boy goes | John Townsend Trowbridge | Farmer John | Home from his journey, Farmer John | Anonymous | A Farmer Went Riding | A farmer went riding upon his gray mare, | Alfred Noyes | Fashions | Fashion on fashion on fashion, (with only the truth growing old!) | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Fata Morgana | O sweet illusions of song | Lewis Carroll | Father William | "You are old, Father William," the young man said, | Robert Southey | Father William | "You are old, Father William," the young man cried | Sara Teasdale | Faults | They came to tell your faults to me, | Robert Greene | Fawnia | Ah! were she pitiful as she is fair | Adeline Whitney | February | Will winter never be over? | Rudyard Kipling | The Female of the Species | When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride | John B. Tabb | Fern Song | Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern | Hilda Conkling | Ferns | Small ferns up-coming through the mossy green | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Ferry Me | "Ferry me across the water, Do, boatman, do." | Eugene Field | "Fiddle-Dee-Dee" | There once was a bird that lived up in a tree | Alfred Noyes | The Fiddler's Farewell | With my fiddle to my shoulder | Ben Jonson | Fidelity | A barking sound the Shepherd hears | Hilda Conkling | The Field of Wonder | What could be more wonderful | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz | It was fifty years ago, in the pleasant month of May, | Marjorie Barrows | Finding Fairies | When the winds of March are wakening the crocuses and crickets | James Russell Lowell | The Finding of the Lyre | There lay upon the ocean's shore | Rachel Lyman Field | Fir Trees | Little green, green fir trees, trooping down the headlands | Edith M. Thomas | The Fir-Tree | O singing Wind, searching field and wood, | Rachel Lyman Field | A Fire | Why does a fire eat big sticks of wood? | Robert Frost | Fire and Ice | Some say the world will end in fire | James Whitcomb Riley | The First Bluebird | Jest rain and snow! and rain again! | Emilie Poulsson | The First Christmas | Once a little baby lay cradled on the fragrant hay | Edna St. Vincent Millay | First Fig | My candle burns at both ends | James Russell Lowell | The First Snowfall | The snow had begun in the gloaming, | James Russell Lowell | The First Snowfall (excerpt) | The snow had begun in the gloaming, | Hilda Conkling | First Songs | Rosy plum-tree, think of me when Spring comes down the world! | Geoffrey Chaucer | The First Virtue | The first virtue, sone, if thou wilt learn | Alfred Noyes | Fishers of Men | Long, long ago He said, He who could wake the dead | Walter de la Mare | Five Eyes | In Hans' old Mill his three black cats | Anonymous | Five Little Chickens | Said the first little chicken with a strange little squirm | Henry Holcomb Bennett | The Flag Goes By | Hats off! Along the street there comes a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums | Lydia Avery Coonley Ward | Flag Song | Out on the breeze, o'er land and seas | Mary Howitt | The Flax Flower | Oh, the little flax flower! it groweth on the hill | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Flint | Stroke a flint, and there is nothing to admire | Rachel Lyman Field | The Florist Shop | Florist shops are beautiful | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Flower | Once in a golden hour | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Flower in the Crannied Wall | Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, | Rachel Lyman Field | The Flower-Cart Man | When it's just past April | Hilda Conkling | Flowers | The garden is full of flowers | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Flowers | All the names I know from nurse: Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | William Blake | The Fly | Little Fly, thy summer's play | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Fly Away | Fly away, fly away over the sea | Eugene Field | The Fly-Away Horse | Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse | Mary E. Burt | The Flying Squirrel | Of all the woodland creatures, | Rachel Lyman Field | Fog | Fog is over the |
Carl Sandburg | Fog | The fog comes on little cat feet | Edward Rowland Sill | The Fool's Prayer | The royal feast was done; the King | Robert Burns | For a' That | Is there, for honest poverty | Rudyard Kipling | "For All We Have and Are" | For all we have and are, for all our children's fate | Rachel Lyman Field | For Christmas | Now not a window big or small | Juliana Horatia Ewing | For Good Luck | Little Kings and Queens of the May | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Forbearance | Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? | Emily Dickinson | Forbidden Fruit (2) | Heaven is what I cannot reach! | Robert Louis Stevenson | Foreign Children | Little Indian, Sioux or Crow | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | Foreign Lands | Up into the cherry tree who should climb but little me? | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | William Cullen Bryant | A Forest Hymn | The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned | Alfred Noyes | A Forest Song | Who would be a king that can sit in the sun and sing? | Emily Dickinson | Forever | Forever—is composed of Nows— | Sir Thomas Wyatt | Forget Not Yet | Forget not yet the tried intent of such a truth as I have meant | Anonymous | Forget-Me-Not | When to the flowers—so beautiful—the Father gave a name | John Greenleaf Whittier | Forgiveness | My heart was heavy, for its trust had been | Matthew Arnold | The Forsaken Merman | Come, dear children, let us away, down and away below! | James Russell Lowell | The Fountain | Into the sunshine, full of the light, | Hilda Conkling | Fountain-Talk | Said the fountain to its clear bed | Kate Greenaway | The Four Princesses | Four Princesses lived in a Green Tower | Anonymous | Four Seasons | Spring is showery, flowery, bowery | Frank Dempster Sherman | The Four Winds | In winter, when the wind I hear, | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Four Winds | "Honor be to Mudjekeewis!" | Ella Higginson | Four-Leaf Clover | I know a place where the sun is like gold | Robert Browning | Fra Lippo Lippi | I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave | Robert Frost | Fragmentary Blue | Why make so much of fragmentary blue | Rachel Lyman Field | Freckles | Jane's hair is gold as a daffodil | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Frederick Douglass | A hush is over all the teeming lists | John Barbour | Freedom | A! Fredome is a noble thing! | James Russell Lowell | Freedom | Who cometh over the hills, | Juliana Horatia Ewing | A Friend in the Garden | He is not John the gardener | Anonymous | The Friendly Beasts | Jesus, our brother, strong and good | Abbie Farwell Brown | Friends | How good to lie a little while, and look up through the tree! | L. G. Warner | Friends | North wind came whistling through the wood, | Emily Dickinson | Fringed Gentian | God made a little gentian; | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Frisky Lamb | A frisky lamb and a frisky child | Hilaire Belloc | The Frog | Be kind and tender to the Frog and do not call him names | illustrated by Basil T. Blackwood | Anonymous | A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go | A Frog he would a-wooing go, whether his mother would let him or no, | Anonymous | Frogs at School | Twenty froggies went to school, down beside a rushing pool | illustrated by Anonymous | Robert Louis Stevenson | From a Railway Carriage | Faster than fairies, faster than witches, | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Frost at Midnight | The Frost performs its secret ministry | Mary Mapes Dodge | The Frost King | Oho! have you seen the Frost King, a-marching up the hill? | Anonymous | Frost Pictures | Pictures on the window, painted by Jack Frost | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Frost Spirit | He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his footsteps now | James Whitcomb Riley | The Funniest Thing in the World | The funniest thing in the world, I know is watchin' the monkeys 'at's in the show! | Anonymous | Fuzzy Wuzzy | Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear | Anonymous | Gaelic Lullaby | Hush the waves are rolling in, | Eugene Field | Ganderfeather's Gift | I was just a little thing | Eugene Field | Garden and Cradle | When our babe he goeth walking in his garden | William Blake | The Garden of Love | I went to the Garden of Love, and saw what I never had seen | Hilda Conkling | Garden of the World | The butterfly swings over the violet | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Gardener | The gardener does not love to talk | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Joyce Kilmer | Gates and Doors | There was a gentle hostler | Sir Walter Scott | Gathering Song of Donald Dhu | Pibroch of Donuil Dhu | Anonymous | The Gay Gos-hawk | "O well is me, my gay goshawk, | W. S. Gilbert | General John | The bravest names for fire and flames | Rachel Lyman Field | General Store | Someday I'm going to have a store | W. S. Gilbert | Gentle Alice Brown | It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown | Hilda Conkling | Geography | I can tell balsam trees | Anonymous | Get Up and Bar the Door | It fell about the Martinmas time | Frank Dempster Sherman | Ghost Fairies | When the open fire is lit in the evening after tea | Robert Frost | Ghost House | I dwell in a lonely house I know | Vachel Lindsay | The Ghosts of the Buffaloes | Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry, | Hilda Conkling | Gift | This is mint and here are three pinks | Robert Frost | A Girl's Garden | A neighbor of mine in the village | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Give All to Love | Give all to love; obey thy heart | Mary Mapes Dodge | The Glad New Year | It's coming, boys, it's almost here | William Cullen Bryant | The Gladness of Nature | Is this the time to be cloudy and sad, | Walter de la Mare | The Glimpse | Art thou asleep? or have thy wings | Leigh Hunt | The Glove and the Lions | King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport | C. T. Brooks | God Bless Our Native Land | God bless our native land! Firm may she ever stand, | Edith M. Thomas | The God of Music | The God of Music dwelleth out of doors. | Dinah Maria Mulock Craik | God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen | God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay, | Anonymous | God's Care | In the pleasant sunny meadows, where the buttercups are seen | Edna St. Vincent Millay | God's World | O World, I cannot hold thee close enough! | Rudyard Kipling | The Gods of the Copybook Headings | As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race | Robert Frost | Going for Water | The well was dry beside the door | Charles and Mary Lamb | Going into Breeches | Joy to Philip! he this day has his long coats cast away | Anonymous | The Golden Rule | Be you to others kind and true, | Frank Dempster Sherman | Golden-Rod | Spring is the morning of the year | Anonymous | Goldenrod | Tell me, sunny goldenrod, growing everywhere, | Robert Louis Stevenson | Good and Bad Children | Children, you are very little, and your bones are very brittle | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | A Good Boy | I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Rachel Lyman Field | Good Green Bus | Rumbling and rattly good green Bus | Robert Frost | Good Hours | I had for my winter evening walk— | Richard Monckton Milnes | Good Night and Good Morning | A fair little girl sat under a tree, | Victor Hugo | Good Night! | Good Night! Good Night! Far flies the light; | Robert Louis Stevenson | A Good Play | We built a ship upon the stairs all made of the back-bedroom chairs | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Marian Douglas | A Good Thanksgiving | Said Old Gentleman Gay, "On a Thanksgiving Day, | Robert Frost | Good-by and Keep Cold | This saying good-by on the edge of the dark | Eugene Field | Good-Children Street | There's a dear little home in Good-Children street | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Good-Night | The lark is silent in his nest | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Goodbye | "Goodbye in fear, goodbye in sorrow | Thomas Hood | Goodnight, Little People | The evening is coming, the sun sinks to rest | Gelett Burgess | The Goops—Table Manners | The Goops they lick their fingers | Sara Teasdale | Grandfather's Love | They said he sent his love to me, | James Whitcomb Riley | Granny | Granny's come to our house, | Emily Dickinson | The Grass | The grass so little has to do, | Rachel Lyman Field | The Grass Island | The little grass island I call my own | Leigh Hunt | The Grasshopper and Cricket | Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, | Anonymous | Grasshopper Green | Grasshopper Green is a comical chap; he lives on the best of fare. | Beatrix Potter | Gravy and Potatoes | Gravy and potatoes in a good brown pot | Anonymous | The Gray Doves' Answer | The leaves were reddening to their fall | Ann Hawkshaw | The Great Brown Owl | The brown Owl sits in the ivy bush | Rachel Lyman Field | Great-Uncle Willie | High on our dining-room wall, smiling and little and neat | Anonymous | Greek Children's Song | The swallow has come again | Rachel Lyman Field | The Green Fiddler | As I came over the humpbacked hill | Robert Buchanan | The Green Gnome | Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! | Anonymous | The Green Grass Growing All Around | There was a tree stood in the ground, the prettiest tree you ever did see | William Wordsworth | The Green Linnet | Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed | Hilda Conkling | The Green Palm Tree | I sat under a delicate palm tree on a shore of sounding waves. | Dinah Maria Mulock Craik | Green Things Growing | Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing, | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Grief | I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Growin' Gray | Hello, ole man, you're a-gittin' gray | Hilda Conkling | Growing | Blossoms in the growing tree, | Matthew Arnold | Growing Old | What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form | A. A. Milne | Growing Up | I've got shoes with grown up laces | Henry Johnstone | Guessing Song | Oh ho! oh ho! Pray, who can I be? | Rudyard Kipling | Gunga Din | You may talk o' gin and beer | Rachel Lyman Field | Gypsies | Last night the gypsies came—nobody knows from where | Robert Herrick | The Hag | The Hag is astride this night for a ride | Rachel Lyman Field | Half Past Eight | Creaking stairs and bed for me | A. A. Milne | Halfway Down | Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit | A. A. Milne | Happiness | John had great big waterproof boots on | Ben Jonson | A Happy Life | How happy is he born and taught | Margaret Sangster | A Happy New Year | Coming, coming, coming! Listen! perhaps you'll hear | Robert Louis Stevenson | Happy Thought | The world is so full of a number of things | illustrated by Myrtle Sheldon | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Rachel Lyman Field | Harebell Time | Oh, I laid me down in the meadow grass | Rachel Lyman Field | Harebells | What do harebells see out in the brown moor grass? | William Shakespeare | Hark! Hark! The Lark! | Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings | Sir Walter Scott | Harp of the North | Harp of the North! that moldering long hast hung | Thomas Moore | The Harp That Once through Tara's Halls | The harp that once through Tara's halls the soul of music shed | Helen Cowles Le Cron | Harry Hippopotamus | Now Harry Hippopotamus had such a heavy tread | Emily Dickinson | Have You Got a Brook in Your Little Heart | Have you got a brook in your little heart, | Eugene Field | The Hawthorne Children | The Hawthorne children—seven in all—are famous friends of mine | Hilda Conkling | Hay-Cock | This is another kind of sweetness | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Hayloft | Through all the pleasant meadow-side the grass grew shoulder-high | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Paul Laurence Dunbar | He Had His Dream | He had his dream, and all through life, worked up to it through toil and strife | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | He Prayeth Best | Farewell, farewell! but this I tell | John Bunyan | He That Is Down Need Fear No Fall | He that is down need fear no fall, he that is low no pride | Benjamin Franklin | He Who Would Thrive | He who would thrive, must rise at five; | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Head without Hair | A pin has a head, but has no hair | William Shakespeare | Heart Untainted | What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Heartsease | Heartsease in my garden bed | J. G. Holland | Heaven Is Not Reached at a Single Bound | Heaven is not reached at a single bound, but we build the ladder by which we rise | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Heavy | What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow | Homer | Hector's Prayer | O Jupiter and all ye deities | Eugene Field | Heigho, My Dearie | Moonbeam floateth from the skies | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Hem | A pocket handkerchief to hem | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Hemlock Tree | O hemlock tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches! | Anonymous | Here We Come A-Whistling | Here we come a-whistling through the fields so green, here we come a-singing, so fair to be seen. | James Russell Lowell | The Heritage | The rich man's son inherits lands, and piles of brick, and stone, and gold | Rudyard Kipling | The Heritage | Our Fathers in a wondrous age | Robert Browning | Hervé Riel | On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, | Anonymous | Hey Nonny No! | Hey nonny no! Men are fools that wish to die! | Eugene Field | Hi–Spy | Strange that the city thoroughfare | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Hiawatha's Childhood | Downward through the evening twilight | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Hiawatha's Childhood | By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Hiawatha's Sailing | "Give me of your bark, O Birch Tree! | Walter de la Mare | Hide and Seek | Hide and seek, says the Wind | Sir Walter Scott | Hie Away | Hie away, hie away! over bank and over brae, | Dora Read Goodale | High and Low | The showers fall as softly upon the lowly grass | Dinah Maria Mulock Craik | Highland Cattle | Down the wintry mountain, like a cloud they come, | Sir Philip Sidney | The Highway | Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be | Alfred Noyes | The Highwayman | The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees | M. A. L. Hilda | Hilda's Christmas | Standing apart from the childish throng, | Hilda Conkling | Hills | The hills are going somewhere; | Rachel Lyman Field | The Hills | Sometimes I think the hills that loom across the harbor | Anna M Pratt | A Hint | If you should frown, and I should frown, | Sir Philip Sidney | His Lady's Cruelty | With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies! | Sir Walter Raleigh | His Pilgrimage | Give me my scallop-shell of quiet | Robert Louis Stevenson | Historical Associations | Dear Uncle Jim, this garden ground that now you smoke your pipe around | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Thomas Campbell | Hohenlinden | On Linden, when the sun was low | Lenore M. Link | Holding Hands | Elephants walking along the trails | Hilda Conkling | Holland Song | When light comes creeping through the hills that shine with mist, | Edith King | The Holly | How happy the holly-tree looks, and how strong | William Blake | Holy Thursday | 'Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean | Rudyard Kipling | The Holy War | A tinker out of Bedford, a vagrant oft in quod | Robert Browning | Home Thoughts from Abroad | O, to be in England, now that April's there, | John Howard Payne | Home, Sweet Home! | 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam | Felicia Dorothea Hemans | The Homes of England | The stately homes of England! How beautiful they stand | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Hope | Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth | Emily Dickinson | Hope | Hope is the thing with feathers | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Hopping Frog | Hopping frog, hop here and be seen | A. A. Milne | Hoppity | Christopher Robin goes hoppity, hoppity | Thomas B. Macaulay | Horatius | Lars Porsena of Clusium, by the Nine Gods he swore | Thomas B. Macaulay | Horatius at the Bridge | The consul's brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low, | James Stephens | The Horse | A sparrow hopped about the street | Walter de la Mare | The Horseman | I heard a horseman ride over the hill | Rachel Lyman Field | A House I Know | Under the looming hills stands a house I know | Rachel Lyman Field | The House in the Woods | Deep in the old pine woods where moss like a rug is spread | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A House of Cards | A house of cards is neat and small | Edmund Spenser | The House of Sleep | Ay me! how many perils doe enfold | Anonymous | The House That Jack Built | This is the house that Jack built | Charles Lamb | The Housekeeper | The frugal snail, with forecast of repose, | Rachel Lyman Field | Houses | I like old houses best, don't you? | Anonymous | How Can the Heart Forget Her? | At her fair hands how have I grace entreated | Isaac Watts | How Doth the Little Busy Bee | How doth the little busy bee, improve each shining hour | Lewis Carroll | How Doth the Little Crocodile | How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail | Frances Chesterton | How Far Is It to Bethlehem? | How far is it to Bethlehem? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | How Many Seconds in a Minute? | How many seconds in a minute? sixty, and no more in it. | Christina Georgina Rossetti | How Many? | How many seconds in a minute? | Williams Collins | How Sleep the Brave | How sleep the brave, who sink to rest | Emily Dickinson | How Still the Bells in Steeples Stand | How still the bells in steeples stand, | Rudyard Kipling | From How the Camel Got His Hump | The Camel's hump is an ugly lump | Gabriel Setoun | How the Flowers Grow | This is how the flowers grow: I have watched them and I know | Susan Coolidge | How the Leaves Came Down | "I'll tell you how the leaves came down | Rudyard Kipling | From How the Leopard Got His Spots | I am the Most Wise Baviaan, saying in most wise tones | Anonymous | How the Little Kite Learned to Fly | "I never can do it," the little kite said, as he looked at the others high over his head; | Rudyard Kipling | From How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin | This Uninhabited Island is off Cape Gardafui | Rudyard Kipling | From How the Whale Got His Throat | When the cabin port-holes are dark and green | Robert Browning | How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix | I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; | Anonymous | How To Get a Breakfast | Said the first little chick, with a queer little squirm, | William Blake | The Human Abstract | Pity would be no more | John Keats | The Human Seasons | Four Seasons fill the measure of the year | Robert Herrick | Humility | Humble we must be | Alfred Noyes | The Humming Birds | Green wing and ruby throat, what shining spell, what exquisite sorcery | Hilda Conkling | Humming-Bird | Why do you stand on the air | Emily Dickinson | The Hummingbird | A route of evanescence | Sir Walter Scott | Hunter's Song | The toils are pitch'd, and the stakes are set | Lewis Carroll | The Hunting of the Snark | "Come , listen, my men, while I tell you again | Sir Walter Scott | Hunting Song | Waken, lords and ladies gay | William Cullen Bryant | The Hurricane | Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh, I know thy breath in the burning sky! | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Hurt No Living Thing | Hurt no living thing: ladybird, nor butterfly | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Huskers | It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain | Rudyard Kipling | The Hyænas | After the burial-parties leave | Robert Frost | Hyla Brook | By June our brook's run out of song and speed | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Hymn | When storms arise and dark'ning skies | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Hymn | We love the venerable house | Rudyard Kipling | Hymn Before Action | The earth is full of anger | Matilda Betham-Edwards | Hymn for a Little Child | God make my life a little light | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Hymn of Pan | From the forests and highlands | Ben Jonson | Hymn to Diana | Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Hymn to Intellectual Beauty | The awful shadow of some unseen Power | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Hymn to the Night | I heard the trailing garments of the Night | William Cullen Bryant | Hymn to the North Star | The sad and solemn night hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires | Anonymous | A Hymn to the Virgin | Of on that is so fayr and bright | John Keats | Hyperion—A Fragment | Deep in the shady sadness of a vale | Hilda Conkling | I Am | I am willowy boughs for coolness | Christina Georgina Rossetti | I Am a King | I am a King, or an Emperor rather | William Blake | I Asked a Thief | I asked a thief to steal me a peach | William Allen Butler | I Can | "I can" is a worker; he tills his broad fields | Walter de la Mare | I Can't Abear | I can't abear a Butcher I can't abide his meat | Christina Georgina Rossetti | I Dug and Dug amongst the Snow | I dug and dug amongst the snow, and thought the flowers would never grow | Christina Georgina Rossetti | I Have a Little Husband | I have a little husband and he is gone to sea | Walt Whitman | I Hear America Singing | I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear | Oliver Herford | I Heard a Bird Sing | I heard a bird sing in the dark of December | G. Linnaeus Banks | I Live for Those Who Love Me | I live for those who love me | Jane Taylor | I Love Little Pussy | I love little Pussy, her coat is so warm; | Jane Taylor | I Love Little Pussy | I love little Pussy, her coat is so warm | Joy Allison | I Love You, Mother | "I love you, mother," said little John. Then, forgetting his work, his cap went on | Richard Le Gallienne | I Meant To Do My Work To-day | I meant to do my work to-day— but a brown bird sang in the apple-tree | Emily Dickinson | I Never Saw a Moor | I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; | Thomas Hood | I Remember, I Remember | I remember, I remember the house where I was born | William Blake | I Saw a Chapel All of Gold | I saw a Chapel all of gold that none did dare to enter in | Kate Greenaway | I Saw a Ship | I saw a ship that sailed the sea. | Old Carol | I Saw Three Ships | I saw three ships come sailing in, on Christmas day, on Christmas day | Anonymous | I Sing of a Maiden | I sing of a maiden that is makeles | William Wordsworth | I Travelled among Unknown Men | I travelled among unknown men, in lands beyond the sea; | Hilda Conkling | I Went to Sea | I went to sea in a glass-bottomed boat | Hilda Conkling | I Will Sing You a Song | I will sing you a song, Sweets-of-my-heart | Judge Parry | I Would Like You for a Comrade | I would like you for a comrade, for I love you, that I do, | Rachel Lyman Field | I'd Like To Be a Lighthouse | I'd like to be a lighthouse all scrubbed and painted white | Emily Dickinson | I'm Nobody! Who Are You? | I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? | Anonymous | Icarus | Love wing'd my Hopes and taught me how to fly | Rachel Lyman Field | The Ice-Cream Man | When summer's in the city | John Greenleaf Whittier | Ichabod | So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn | Rudyard Kipling | If | If you can keep your head when all about you | Paul Laurence Dunbar | If | If life were but a dream, my Love | Christina Georgina Rossetti | If a Mouse Could Fly | If a mouse could fly, or if a crow could swim | Christina Georgina Rossetti | If a Pig Wore a Wig | If a pig wore a wig what could we say? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | If All Were Rain | If all were rain and never sun, | Lydia Maria Child | If Ever I See | If ever I see, on bush or tree | Christina Georgina Rossetti | If Hope Grew on a Bush | If hope grew on a bush and joy grew on a tree | Emily Dickinson | If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking | If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; | Hilda Conkling | If I Could Tell You The Way | Down through the forest to the river I wander. | Hilda Conkling | If I Find a Moon | If I find a moon, I will sing a moon-song. | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | If I Had But Two Little Wings | If I had but two little wings | Lucy Larcom | If I Were a Sunbeam | "If I were a Sunbeam, I know what I'd do | Rachel Lyman Field | If I Were a Tree | If I were a little tree like you, instead of a child like me | A. A. Milne | If I Were King | I often wish I were a King, and then I could do anything | John Martin | If I Were Little as a Bee | If I were little as a bee, I'd let him fly away with me | Laurence Alma-Tadema | If No One Ever Marries Me | If no one ever marries me,—and I don't see why they should | Rachel Lyman Field | If Once You Have Slept on an Island | If once you have slept on an island you'll never be quite the same | Christina Georgina Rossetti | If the Moon | If the moon came from heaven | Christina Georgina Rossetti | If the Sun Could Talk | If the sun could tell us half that he hears and sees | Christina Georgina Rossetti | If the Sun Could Tell Us | If the sun could tell us half that he hears and sees | Anonymous | If You See a Faery Ring | If you see a faery ring in a field of grass | John Keats | Imitation of Spenser | Now morning from her orient chambers came | James Whitcomb Riley | An Impetuous Resolve | When little Dickie Swope's a man | Algernon Charles Swinburne | In a Garden | Baby, see the flowers! Baby sees fairer things than these | Robert Frost | In a Vale | When I was young, we dwelt in a vale | Elizabeth Akers | In April | The poplar drops beside the way its tasselled plumes of silver-gray | Sara Teasdale | In David's Child's Garden of Verses | The dearest child in all the world | John Keats | In Drear-Nighted December | In drear-nighted December, too happy, happy tree | Robert Frost | In Equal Sacrifice | Thus of old the Douglas did | John Addington Symonds | In February | The birds have been singing to-day | John McCrae | In Flanders Fields | In Flanders fields the poppies blow | Robert Frost | In Hardwood Groves | The same leaves over and over again! | Rachel Lyman Field | In Holyrood | Fifty pipers Queen Mary had with bonnet and kilt of Stuart plaid | William Dunbar | In Honour of the City of London | London, thou art of townes A per se. | Alfred Lord Tennyson | In Memoriam A. H. H. | Strong Son of God, immortal Love | Alfred Lord Tennyson | In Memoriam, VII | Dark house, by which once more I stand | Rachel Lyman Field | In Praise of Dust | Dust is such a pleasant thing— a soft gray kind of covering | John Greenleaf Whittier | In School-Days | Still sits the school-house by the road, | Rachel Lyman Field | In Spring | By every doorway lilacs lean, tufts of bloom in a mist of green | Sara Teasdale | In the Carpenter's Shop | Mary sat in the corner dreaming, | A. A. Milne | In the Fashion | A lion has a tail and a very fine tail | Eugene Field | In the Firelight | The fire upon the hearth is low | Maurice Thompson | In the Haunts of Bass and Bream | Dreams come true, and everything | Rachel Lyman Field | In the Japanese Garden | Someone is there, I know, in the Japanese garden | Christina Georgina Rossetti | In the Meadow | In the meadow—what in the meadow? | Sara Teasdale | In the Train | Fields beneath a quilt of snow | Walter de la Mare | In Vain | I knocked upon thy door ajar | Robert Wever | In Youth Is Pleasure | In a harbour grene aslepe whereas I lay | Robert Southey | The Inchcape Rock | No stir in the air, no stir in the sea | Robert Browning | An Incident of the French Camp | You know, we French storm'd Ratisbon | A. A. Milne | Independence | I never did, I never did, I never did like | John Greenleaf Whittier | Indian Summer | From gold to gray, our mild, sweet day | Emily Dickinson | Indian Summer | These are the days when birds come back, | William Blake | Infant Joy | "I have no name; I am but two days old. | William Blake | Infant Sorrow | My mother groaned! my father wept, into the dangerous world I leapt | William Shakespeare | Ingratitude | Blow, blow, thou winter wind | Eugene Field | Inscription for My Little Son's Silver Plate | When thou dost eat from off this plate | James Russell Lowell | An Interview with Miles Standish | I sat one evening in my room, in that sweet hour of twilight | Robert Frost | Into My Own | One of my wishes is that those dark trees | A. A. Milne | The Invaders | In careless patches through the wood the clumps of yellow primrose stood | Willian Ernest Henley | Invictus | Out of the night that covers me | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Ione | Ah, yes, 'tis sweet still to remember | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Is the Moon Tired? | Is the moon tired? she looks so pale | Hilda Conkling | The Island | They flew as the night-wind flowed, very softly, | A. A. Milne | The Island | If I had a ship, I'd sail my ship, I'd sail my ship through Eastern seas | Rachel Lyman Field | Islands | All the islands have run away from the land which is their mother | Lord Byron | The Isles of Greece | The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! | Edgar Allan Poe | Israfel | In Heaven a spirit doth dwell | William Wordsworth | It Is a Beauteous Evening | It is a beauteous evening, calm and free | Emily Dickinson | It Might Be Lonelier | It might be lonelier without the Loneliness— | Emily Dickinson | It Was a Quiet Way | It was a quiet way—He asked if I was his— | Thomas B. Macaulay | Ivry | Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! | Charles Dickens | The Ivy Green | O, a dainty plant is the ivy green | Lewis Carroll | Jabberwocky | 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves | Hannah Flagg Gould | Jack Frost | The Frost looked forth, one still, clear night | Celia Thaxter | Jack Frost | Rustily creak the crickets | Gabriel Setoun | Jack Frost | The door was shut, as doors should be | Clara Smith | Jack in the Pulpit | Jack in the Pulpit preaches to-day | Leigh Hunt | Jaffár | Jaffár, the Barmecide, the good Vizier, | Benjamin Franklin King | Jane Jones | Jane Jones keeps talkin' to me all the time | Anonymous | Jemima | There was a little girl, and she had a little curl | Eugene Field | Jest 'fore Christmas | Father calls me William, sister calls me Will | Catherine C Liddell | Jesus the Carpenter | "Isn't this Joseph's son?"—ay, it is He | Walter de la Mare | Jim Jay | Do diddle di do, Poor Jim Jay | Robert Burns | John Anderson | John Anderson, my jo, John, | Robert Burns | John Barleycorn | There were three kings into the East, | Anonymous | John Grumblie | John Grumblie vow'd by the light of the moon, and the green leaves on the tree | William Stevenson | Jolly Good Ale and Old | I cannot eat but little meat | A. A. Milne | Jonathan Jo | Jonathan Jo has a mouth like an 'O' | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Journey | Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Joy of Giving | Somehow, not only for Christmas but all the long year through | Susan Hartley Swett | July | When the scarlet cardinal tells her dream to the dragon fly | Edward Lear | The Jumblies | They went to sea in a sieve, they did | James Russell Lowell | June | What is so rare as a day in June? | Eileen Duggan | Juniper | Who does not love the juniper tree? | Oliver Wendell Holmes | Katydid | I love to hear thine earnest voice, wherever thou art hid | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Keep A-Pluggin' Away | I've a humble little motto that is homely, though it's true | Robert Louis Stevenson | Keepsake Mill | Over the borders, a sin without pardon | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Richard Henry Buck | Kentucky Babe | 'Skeeters am a hummin' on de honeysuckle vine, | Rachel Lyman Field | The Kettledrums | The horns were gay as a brook in spring | Alfred Noyes | Kilmeny | Dark, dark lay the drifters against the red West | Sara Teasdale | The Kind Moon | I think the moon is very kind | Anonymous | King and Queen | Lilies are white, Rosemary's green | Christina Georgina Rossetti | King and Queen | If I were a Queen what would I do? | Eliza Cook | King Bruce | King Bruce of Scotland flung himself down | Walter de la Mare | King David | King David was a sorrowful man | Anonymous | King John and the Abbot of Canterbury | An ancient story I'll tell you anon | John Greenleaf Whittier | King Solomon and the Ants | Out from Jerusalem the king rode with his great war chiefs and lords of state | A. A. Milne | The King's Breakfast | The King asked the Queen, and the Queen asked the Dairymaid | William Wordsworth | The Kitten and Falling Leaves | That way look, my Infant, lo! | William Brighty Rands | The Kitten Speaks | I am the Cat of Cats. I am | William Wordsworth | The Kitten, and Falling Leaves | See the kitten on the wall, sporting with the leaves that fall | Elizabeth Lee Follen | Kitty in the Basket | "Where is my little basket gone? said Charlie boy one day. | Rachel Lyman Field | Kitty's Laugh | When Kitty laughs it's just the way that ripples all begin | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | The Knight's Tomb | Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? | A. A. Milne | Knights and Ladies | There is in my old picture-book a page at which I like to look | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Kraken | Below the thunders of the upper deep; | Eugene Field | Krinken | Krinken was a little child,—It was summer when he smiled. | Thomas Bailey Aldrich | Kriss Kringle | Just as the moon was fading amid her misty rings | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Kubla Khan | In Xanadu did Kubla Khan | Rudyard Kipling | L'envoi | When Earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried | John Keats | La Belle Dame Sans Merci | O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Ladder of St. Augustine | Saint Augustine! well hast thou said | Eugene Field | Lady Button Eyes | When the busy day is done | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Lady Clare | It was the time when lilies blow | Richard Monckton Milnes | Lady Moon | "Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?" | Lord Houghton | Lady Moon | Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Lady of All Beauty | The lily has a smooth stalk | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Lady of Shalott | On either side the river lie | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Ladybird | I caught a little ladybird | Caroline Bowles Southey | Ladybird, Ladybird! | Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! the field-mouse has gone to her nest | Rachel Lyman Field | The Lamb | "Jonathan Preble, agéd three | William Blake | The Lamb | Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, | John B. Tabb | The Lamb-Child | When Christ the Babe was born, full many a little lamb | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Lambkin | A motherless soft lambkin | Laurence Alma-Tadema | Lambs in the Meadow | O little lambs! the month is cold, the sky is very gray; | Thomas Hoccleve | Lament for Chaucer | Allas! my worthi maister honorable | William Dunbar | Lament for the Makers | I that in heill was and gladnéss | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Lamplighter | My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Land of Counterpane | When I was sick and lay a-bed, I had two pillows at my head | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Land of Nod | From breakfast on through all the day | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Hilda Conkling | Land of Nod | I wander mountain to mountain, from sea to sea, | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Land of Story-Books | At evening when the lamp is lit, around the fire my parents sit | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Felicia Dorothea Hemans | The Landing of the Pilgrims | The breaking waves dashed high on a stern and rock-bound coast, | Anonymous | The Lark and the Rook | "Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark. | Oliver Wendell Holmes | The Last Leaf | I saw him once before, as he passed by the door, | Thomas Moore | The Last Rose of Summer | 'Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone; | W. H. Davenport Adams | The Last Voyage of the Fairies | Down the bright stream the Fairies float | William Blake | Laughing Song | When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy | John Greenleaf Whittier | Laus Deo! | It is done! Clang of bell and roar of gun | Alfred Noyes | Lavender | Lavender, lavender that makes your linen sweet | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Lawyers' Ways | I've been list'nin' to them lawyers in the court house up the street | John Henry Newman | Lead, Kindly Light | Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom | Phœbe Cary | The Leak in the Dike | The good dame looked from her cottage | Robert Southey | The Legend of Bishop Hatto | The summer and autumn had been so wet | Laura E. Richards | A Legend of Lake Okeefinokee | There once was a frog, and he lived in a bog | Phoebe Cary | A Legend of the Northland | Away, away in the Northland, where the hours of the day are few | William H. Davies | Leisure | What is this life if, full of care | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Lesson | My cot was down by a cypress grove | Alice Cary | A Lesson of Mercy | A boy named Peter found once in the road | Isaac Watts | Let Dogs Delight To Bark and Bite | Let dogs delight to bark and bite for God hath made them so | Matthew Prior | A Letter | My noble, lovely, little Peggy, let this my First Epistle beg ye | Annette Wynne | A Letter Is a Gypsy Elf | A letter is a gypsy elf—it goes where I would go myself | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Letters | Eight o'clock—The postman's knock! | Charles Tennyson Turner | Letty's Globe | When Letty had scarce pass'd her third glad year | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Lie A-Bed | Lie a-bed sleepy-head | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Life | A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in | James Whitcomb Riley | A Life Lesson | There! little girl; don't cry! | Epes Sargent | A Life on the Ocean Wave | A life on the ocean wave, a home on the rolling deep | A. L. Barbauld | Life, I Know Not What Thou Art | Life! I know not what thou art. But know that thou and I must part; | Thomas Moore | The Light of Other Days | Oft in the stilly night | William Cowper | Light Shining Out of Darkness | God moves in a mysterious way | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Light That Is Felt | A tender child of summers three | Anonymous | The Light-Hearted Fairy | Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho! | Sir Walter Scott | The Lighthouse | Far in the bosom of the deep, | Alfred Noyes | The Lights of Home | Pilot, how far from home? | William Blake | The Lily | The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, | A. A. Milne | Lines and Squares | Whenever I walk in a London street, I'm ever so careful to watch my feet | John Keats | Lines on the Mermaid Tavern | Souls of Poets dead and gone | Lord Byron | Lines to Mr. Hodgson | Huzza! Hodgson, we are going | William Wordsworth | Lines Written in Early Spring | I heard a thousand blended notes, | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Linnets | A linnet in a gilded cage | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Little Alice | Dancing on the hill-tops, singing in the valleys | Thomas Westwood | Little Bell | Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray | William Makepeace Thackeray | Little Billee | There were three sailors of Bristol city | Walter de la Mare | The Little Bird | My dear Daddie bought a mansion | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Little Birdie | What does little birdie say, in her nest at peep of day? | William Blake | The Little Black Boy | My mother bore me in the southern wild | Eugene Field | Little Blue Pigeon | Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings | Mother Goose | Little Bo-Peep | Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep, | Mother Goose | Little Bo-Peep | Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep, and can't tell where to find them | A. A. Milne | Little Bo-Peep and Little Boy Blue | "What have you done with your sheep, Little Bo-Peep? | Mother Goose | Little Boy Blue | Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn. | Eugene Field | Little Boy Blue | The little toy dog is covered with dust | William Blake | The Little Boy Found | The little boy lost in the lonely fen, led by the wandering light | William Blake | The Little Boy Lost | "Father, father, where are you going? | Laura E. Richards | Little Brown Bobby | Little Brown Bobby sat on the barn floor | Helen Barron Bostwick | Little Bud Dandelion | Little Bud Dandelion, hears from her nest | Anonymous | Little by Little | "Little by little," an acorn said, as it slowly sank in its mossy bed | Mary Howitt | Little Children | Sporting through the forest wide; playing by the waterside | William Brighty Rands | Little Christel | Slowly forth from the village church | Anonymous | Little Cock-Sparrow | A little cock-sparrow sat on a green tree, | Helen Barron Bostwick | Little Dandelion | Gay little Dandelion lights up the meads | William Brighty Rands | Little Ditties I | Winifred Waters sat and sighed | Harriet Whitney Durbin | A Little Dutch Garden | I passed by a garden, a little Dutch garden | John Kendrick Bangs | The Little Elf-Man | I met a little Elf-man, once, down where the lilies blow. | Sir Gilbert Parker | Little Garaine | "Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?" | William Blake | The Little Girl Found | All the night in woe Lyca’s parents go | William Blake | The Little Girl Lost | In futurity, I prophetic see that the earth from sleep | Walter de la Mare | The Little Green Orchard | Some one is always sitting there in the little green orchard | Celia Thaxter | Little Gustava | Little Gustava sits in the sun, | Edna St. Vincent Millay | The Little Hill | Oh, here the air is sweet and still | Eugene Field | Little Homer's Slate | After dear old grandma died | Anonymous | Little Jack Frost | Little Jack Frost went up the hill, watching the stars and the moon so still | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Little Land | When at home alone I sit and am very tired of it | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Jane Taylor Taylor | The Little Lark | I hear a pretty bird, but hark! I cannot see it anywhere. | Lydia Maria Child | The Little Maiden and the Little Bird | "Little bird! little bird! come to me! | Hughes Mearns | The Little Man Who Wasn't There | Yesterday, upon the stair | Emily Huntington Miller | Little May | Have you heard the waters singing, | Eugene Field | Little Mistress Sans-Merci | Little Mistress Sans-Merci fareth world-wide, fancy free | Eugene Field | Little Oh-Dear | See, what a wonderful garden is here | Rachel Lyman Field | The Little Old Window | This window is very old, they say | Beatrix Potter | The Little Old Woman | You know the old woman | James Whitcomb Riley | Little Orphant Annie | Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Little Owl | "I dreamt I caught a little owl and the bird was blue | Hilda Conkling | Little Papoose | Little papoose swung high in the branches | Kate L. Brown | The Little Plant | In the Heart of a Seed, buried deep, so deep! | Jane Euphemia Browne | Little Raindrops | Oh! where do you come from | Rachel Lyman Field | The Little Rose | Every rose on the little tree is making a different face at me! | Hilda Conkling | Little Snail | I saw a little snail come down the garden walk. | Marian Douglas | Little Sorrow | Among the thistles on the hill, in tears, sat little Sorrow | Ebenezer Cobham Brewer | Little Things | Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, | Anonymous | Little Things | Little drops of water, Little grains of sand | Julia Fletcher Carney | Little Things | Little drops of water, little grains of sand | Vachel Lindsay | The Little Turtle | There was a little turtle. He lived in a box | George MacDonald | Little White Lily | Little White Lily sat by a stone, | Kate Greenaway | Little Wind | Little wind, blow on the hill top, Little wind, blow down the plain | Lewis Carroll | A Lobster Quadrille | "Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail | Sir Walter Scott | Lochinvar | Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west. | Celia Thaxter | Lock the Dairy Door | "Lock the dairy door! Lock the dairy door! | Anonymous | London Bridge | London bridge is broken down, | Rachel Lyman Field | London Bridge | "London Bridge is falling down," down, down, down | Laurence Alma-Tadema | London Wind | The wind blows, the wind blows, over the ocean far | William Wordsworth | London, 1802 | Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: | Rachel Lyman Field | Loneliness | The houses shine across the way, the sea is blue as yesterday | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Lonesome | Mother's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two | Hilda Conkling | The Lonesome Green Apple | There was a little green apple | Hilda Conkling | The Lonesome Wave | There is an island in the middle of my heart | Elizabeth Prentiss | Long Time Ago | Once there was a little Kitty, white as the snow | Anonymous | Long, Long Ago | Wind through the olive trees softly did blow | James Russell Lowell | Longing | Of all the myriad moods of mind | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Longing | If you could sit with me beside the sea to-day | Robert Louis Stevenson | Looking Forward | When I am grown to man's estate | illustrated by Myrtle Sheldon | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | Looking-Glass River | Smooth it glides upon its travel, here a wimple, there a gleam | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Alfred Noyes | The Loom of Years | In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea | Anonymous | Lord Darly | My pen and hand proceed to write, a woeful tale to tell | Anonymous | Lord Lovel | Lord Lovel was standing at his stable door, combing his milk-white steed; | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Lord of Burleigh | In her ear he whispers gaily | Thomas Campbell | Lord Ullin's Daughter | A chieftain, to the Highlands bound | Alfred Noyes | The Lost Battle | It is not over yet—the fight | Charles Kingsley | The Lost Doll | I once had a sweet little doll, dears | Emily Dickinson | The Lost Jewel | I held a jewel in my fingers | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Lost Occasion | Some die too late and some too soon | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Lotos-Eaters | "Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land | Sir Walter Scott | Love | In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; | Robert Browning | Love Among the Ruins | Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles | William Brighty Rands | Love and the Child | Toys, and treats, and pleasures pass like a shadow in a glass | Isaac Watts | Love between Brothers and Sisters | Whatever brawls disturb the street | Samuel Daniel | Love Is a Sickness | Love is a sickness full of woes, all remedies refusing | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Love Me | Love me—I love you | Anonymous | Love Not Me For Comely Grace | Love not me for comely grace, for my pleasing eye or face | Sara Teasdale | The Love That Goes A-Begging | Oh Loves there are that enter in, | Geoffrey Chaucer | The Love Unfeigned | O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Love's Philosophy | The fountains mingle with the river | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Lover and the Moon | A lover whom duty called over the wave | Anonymous | The Lover in Winter Plaineth for the Spring | The O western wind, when wilt thou blow | George Gascoigne | A Lover's Lullaby | Sing lullaby, as women do, wherewith they bring their babes to rest | William Wordsworth | Lucy | She dwelt among the untrodden ways | William Wordsworth | Lucy Gray | Oft had I heard of Lucy Gray, and when I crossed the Wild | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Lullaby | Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Flowers are closed and lambs are sleeping; | Richard Rowlands | Lullaby | Upon my lap my sovereign sits | William Shakespeare | Lullaby for Titania | You spotted snakes with double tongue | Sir Walter Scott | Lullaby of an Infant Chief | Oh, hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight, | Anonymous | Lusty May | O lusty May, with Flora queen! | Sir Walter Raleigh | The Lye | Goe, soule, the bodie's guest, | William Blake | Mad Song | The wild winds weep | Anonymous | Madrigal | My Love in her attire doth show her wit | Charles Lamb | The Magpie's Nest | When the arts in their infancy were, | Alfred Noyes | The Making of a Poem | Last night a passionate tempest shook his soul | Anonymous | The Man in the Moon | The Man in the Moon as he sails the sky is a very remarkable skipper, | James Whitcomb Riley | The Man in the Moon | Said the Raggedy Man, on a hot afternoon: | William Shakespeare | The Man That Hath No Music in Himself | The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, | Alfred Noyes | The Man Who Discovered the Use of a Chair | The man who discovered the use of a chair, odds—bobs—what a wonderful man! | Edwin Markham | The Man with the Hoe | Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Mannikin | Your brother has a falcon, your sister has a flower | Walter de la Mare | Many a Mickle | A little sound—only a little, a little | Celia Thaxter | March | I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill | Lucy Larcom | March | March! March! March! They are coming | William Cullen Bryant | March | The stormy March is come at last, | William Cullen Bryant | March | The stormy March is come at last, | Hilda Conkling | March Thought | I am waiting for the flowers to come back | William Shakespeare | March, from The Winter's Tale | Daffodils that come before the swallows dare, and take | Robert Louis Stevenson | Marching Song | Bring the comb and play upon it! Marching, here we come! | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Fitz-Greene Halleck | Marco Bozzaris | At midnight, in his guarded tent | Kate Greenaway | Margery Brown | "Margery Brown on the top of the hill | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Mariana | With blackest moss the flower-pots | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Mariana in the South | With one black shadow at its feet | Thomas Bailey Aldrich | Marjorie's Almanac | Robins in the tree top, blossoms in the grass | William Shakespeare | Mark Antony's Oration at the Funeral of Caesar | Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears | A. A. Milne | Market Square | I had a penny, a bright new penny | Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle | The Marseillaise | Ye sons of France, awake to glory! | Sarah Josepha Hale | Mary Had a Little Lamb | Mary had a Little Lamb, its fleece was white as snow; | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Master-Player | An old worn harp that had been played | William Morris | Masters in This Hall | Masters in this hall, hear ye news today | Alfred Noyes | The Matin-Song of Friar Tuck | If souls could sing to heaven's high King | John Greenleaf Whittier | Maud Muller | Maud Muller on a summer's day raked the meadow sweet with hay | Christina Georgina Rossetti | May | There is but one May in the year | Frank Dempster Sherman | May | May shall make the world anew | Sara Teasdale | May Day | A delicate fabric of bird song | Rachel Lyman Field | May in Cambridge | How could I learn philosophy or read great books of history | Anonymous | May in the Green-Wood | In somer when the shawes be sheyne | Sara Teasdale | May Night | The spring is fresh and fearless | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The May Queen | You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; | Alfred Noyes | A May-Day Carol | What is the loveliest light that Spring | Emily Dickinson | May-Flower | Pink, small, and punctual, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Meadow Lark | Though the winds be dank and the sky be sober | Henry Howard | The Means To Attain Happy Life | Martial, the things that do attain the happy life be these, I find:— | Ann Taylor | Meddlesome Matty | One ugly trick has often spoil'd | Rachel Lyman Field | Meeting | As I went home on the old wood road | John Keats | Meg Merrilies | Old Meg she was a Gipsy, and liv'd upon the Moors | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Melancholia | Silently without my window, tapping gently at the pane | Robert Frost | Mending Wall | Something there is that doesn't love a wall | William Blake | The Mental Traveller | I travelled through a land of men | Geoffrey Chaucer | Merciles Beaute | Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly | William Shakespeare | Mercy | The quality of mercy is not strain'd | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Mermaid | Who would be a mermaid fair, | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Merman | Who would be a merman bold sitting alone | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Merry Autumn | It's all a farce,—these tales they tell | William Wordsworth | They Called Thee Merry England | They called Thee Merry England, in old time | Rachel Lyman Field | Merry-Go-Round | Purple horses with orange manes, elephants pink and blue | Richard Watson Gilder | A Midsummer Song | Oh, father's gone to market-town: he was up before the day | JohnTownsend Trowbridge | Midwinter | The speckled sky is dim with snow | Jean Ingelow | Milking Song | "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling ere the early dews were falling | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Milking Time | Margaret has a milking-pail, and she rises early; | Dinah Maria Mulock | The Mill | Winding and grinding round goes the mill | Charles Mackay | The Miller of the Dee | There dwelt a miller, hale and bold, beside the river Dee | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Miller's Daughter | I see the wealthy miller yet | William Blake | From Milton | And did those feet in ancient time walk upon England's mountains green? | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Mine Be the Strength | Mine be the strength of spirit fierce and free | Thomas Westwood | Mine Host of "The Golden Apple" | A goodly host one day was mine | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Minnie | Minnie bakes oaten cakes, Minnie brews ale | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Minnie and Mattie | Minnie and Mattie and fat little May | Thomas Moore | The Minstrel-Boy | The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, | Sara Teasdale | A Minuet of Mozart's | Across the dimly lighted room | A. A. Milne | The Mirror | Between the woods the afternoon is fallen in a golden swoon | Rachel Lyman Field | Miss Lucinda's Garden | Larkspur and lupin burn blue in the garden | A. A. Milne | Missing | Has anybody seen my mouse? | Dixie Willson | The Mist and All | I like the fall, the mist and all | Alfred Noyes | Mist in the Valley | Mist in the valley, weeping mist | Mother Goose | Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary | Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Mix a Pancake | Mix a pancake, stir a pancake | William Blake | Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau | Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau; Mock on, mock on; 'tis all in vain | Selleck Osborne | A Modest Wit | A supercilious nabob of the East | Edith M. Thomas | Moly | Traveller, pluck a stem of moly | Laura E. Richards | The Monkeys and the Crocodile | Five little monkeys swinging from a tree | Sara Coleridge | The Months | January brings the snow | Richard B. Sheridan | The Months | January snowy, February flowy, March blowy; | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Moon | The moon has a face like the clock in the hall | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Emily Dickinson | The Moon | The moon was but a chin of gold | Hilda Conkling | Moon Doves | The moon has a dove-cote safe and small | Fannie Stearns Gifford | Moon Folly | I will go up the mountain after the Moon | Hilda Conkling | Moon Song | There is a star that runs very fast | Hilda Conkling | Moon Thought | The moon is thinking of the river | Vachel Lindsay | The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky | The Moon's the North Wind's cookie. He bites it, day by day | Matthias Barr | Moon, So Round and Yellow | Moon, so round and yellow looking from on high | William Shakespeare | Moonlight | How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Morituri Salutamus | "O Caesar, we who are about to die salute you!" was the gladiators' cry | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Morning | The mist has left the greening plain | John Keats | Morning | I stood tiptoe upon a little hill | Sara Teasdale | Morning | I went out on an April morning, | Hilda Conkling | Morning | There is a brook I must hear | Thomas Moore | Morning Hymn | Thou art, O God, the life and light | William Knox | Mortality | O why should the spirit of mortal be proud? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Mother Hen | A white hen sitting on white eggs three | Robert Frost | The Mountain | The mountain held the town as in a shadow | Ralph Waldo Emerson | The Mountain and the Squirrel | The mountain and the squirrel had a quarrel | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Mournful Linnets | Hear what the mournful linnets say | Hilda Conkling | Mouse | Little mouse in gray velvet | Robert Frost | Mowing | There was never a sound beside the wood but one | Bliss Carman | Mr. Moon | O Moon, Mr. Moon, when you comin' down? | Anonymous | Mr. Nobody | I know a funny little man, as quiet as a mouse | Walter de la Mare | Mrs. Earth | Mrs. Earth makes silver black | Laura E. Richards | Mrs. Snipkin and Mrs. Wobblechin | Skinny Mrs. Snipkin, with her little pipkin | Rachel Lyman Field | The Mushroom Gatherers | Into the woods behind the farm | Hilda Conkling | Mushroom Song | Oh little mushrooms with brown faces underneath | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Music | Let me go where'er I will | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | A Musical Instrument | What was he doing, the great god Pan | William Wordsworth | Mutability | From low to high doth dissolution climb | Christina Georgina Rossetti | My Baby | My baby has a mottled fist | Robert Louis Stevenson | My Bed Is a Boat | My bed is like a little boat, nurse helps me in when I embark; | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Walt Whitman | My Canary Bird | Did we count great, O soul, to penetrate the themes of mighty books, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | My Corn-Cob Pipe | Men may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the stars | Lewis Carroll | My Fairy | I have a fairy by my side | Thomas Edward Brown | My Garden | A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot! | Ralph Waldo Emerson | My Garden | If I could put my woods in song | Anonymous | My Heart Is High Above | My heart is high above, my body is full of bliss | Robert Burns | My Heart's in the Highlands | My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; | Edna St. Vincent Millay | My Heart, Being Hungry | My heart, being hungry, feeds on food the fat of heart despise | Rachel Lyman Field | My Inside-Self | My Inside-Self and my Outside-Self are different as can be | Robert Burns | My Jean | Of a' the airts the wind can blaw | Robert Louis Stevenson | My Kingdom | Down by a shining water well I found a very little dell | Anonymous | My Lady Wind | My Lady Wind is very tall, as tall as she can be; | Anonymous | My Lady's Tears | I saw my Lady weep, and Sorrow proud to be advancéd so | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | My Lost Youth | Often I think of the beautiful town | Anonymous | My Maid Mary | My maid Mary she minds the dairy, | Sir Walter Scott | My Native Land | Breathes there the man with soul so dead, | Robert Frost | My November Guest | My Sorrow, when she's here with me | Stephen Collins Foster | My Old Kentucky Home | The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home | Emily Dickinson | My Period Had Come for Prayer | My period had come for Prayer—No other Art—would do— | "A" | My Pony | My pony toss'd his sprightly head, and would have smiled, if smile he could | William Blake | My Pretty Rose Tree | A flower was offered to me, Such a flower as May never bore | Kate Greenaway | My Robin | Under the window is my garden | Robert Louis Stevenson | My Shadow | I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | My Ship and I | O it's I that am the captain of a tidy little ship | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Browning | My Star | All that I know of a certain star | Robert Louis Stevenson | My Treasures | These nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke | Myra | I, with whose colours Myra dress'd her head | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Mystery | I was not; now I am—a few days hence | Hannah Flagg Gould | A Name in the Sand | Alone I walked the ocean strand | W. S. Gilbert | The Yarn of the Nancy Bell | 'Twas on the shores that round our coast | Hilda Conkling | Narcissus | Narcissus, I like to watch you grow | Francis Miles Finch | Nathan Hale | To drum-beat and heart-beat a soldier marches by | Rudyard Kipling | A Nativity | The Babe was laid in the Manger | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Nature | As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Nature and Art | The young queen Nature, ever sweet and fair | Emily Dickinson | Nature Is What We See | Nature is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon | William H. Davies | Nature's Friend | Say what you like, all things love me! | James Whitcomb Riley | Naughty Claude | When Little Claude was naughty wunst | Eugene Field | The Naughty Doll | My dolly is a dreadful care | Anonymous | A Nautical Ballad | A capital ship for an ocean trip, was the Walloping Window-Blind. | Anonymous | The Nautilus and the Ammonite | The nautilus and the ammonite were launched in friendly strife | Mary Mapes Dodge | Nearly Ready | In the snowing and the blowing, in the cruel sleet | Matthew Arnold | The Neckan | In summer on the headlands, the Baltic Sea along | Nora Archibald Smith | Neighbors of the Christ Night | Deep in the shelter of the cave, the ass with drooping head | Robert Louis Stevenson | Nest Eggs | Birds all the sunny day flutter and quarrel | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | George W. Cable | A New Arrival | There came to port last Sunday night | Alfred Noyes | The New Duckling | "I want to be new," said the duckling | "A" | A New Fern | A Fairy has found a new fern! a lovely surprise of the May! | Anonymous | The New Jerusalem | Hierusalem, my happy home, when shall I come to thee? | Eliza Lee Follen | The New Moon | Dear mother, how pretty the moon looks to-night! | Dinah Mulock | The New Year | Who comes dancing over the snow | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The New Year | Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky | Edith Nesbit | New Year Snow | The white snow falls on hill and dale | Walter de la Mare | Nicholas Nye | Thistle and darnell and dock grew there | William Blake | Night | The sun descending in the West, | William Blake | Night | The sun descending in the West, | Mary F. Butts | Night | The snow is white, the wind is cold—the king has sent for my three-year-old | Robert Southey | Night | How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air | Robert Louis Stevenson | Night and Day | When the golden day is done | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Mary Mapes Dodge | Night and Day | When I run about all day | Hilda Conkling | Night Goes Rushing By | Night goes hurrying over like sweeping clouds; | Francis William Bourdillon | The Night Has a Thousand Eyes | The night has a thousand eyes, and the day but one | Sara Teasdale | Night in Arizona | The moon is a charring ember | Alexander Montgomerie | The Night Is Near Gone | Hey! now the day dawis; the jolly cock crawis | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Night of Love | The moon has left the sky, love | Eleanor Farjeon | The Night Will Never Stay | The night will never stay, the night will still go by | Eugene Field | The Night Wind | Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo?" | Felicia Dorothea Hemans | Night-Scented Flowers | "Call back your odors, lonely flowers, | Eugene Field | Nightfall in Dordrecht | The mill goes toiling slowly around with steady and solemn creak | William Cowper | The Nightingale and the Glow-Worm | A nightingale, that all day long | Celia Thaxter | Nikolina | O tell me, little children, have you seen her | Thomas Hood | No! | No sun—no moon! | Alice Cary | Nobility | True worth is in being, not seeming | Ben Jonson | The Noble Nature | It is not growing like a tree | Walter de la Mare | Nobody Knows | Often I've heard the Wind sigh by the ivied orchard wall | Walter de la Mare | Nod | Softly along the road of evening | Walt Whitman | A Noiseless Patient Spider | A noiseless patient spider, I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated | Edward Lear | Nonsense Alphabet | A was an ant, who seldom stood still | Edward Lear | Nonsense Alphabet | A was an Ant who seldom stood still; and who made a nice house in the side of the hill | Edward Lear | Nonsense Verse | There was an old man who said, "How shall I flee from this horrible cow? | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Nora: A Serenade | Ah, Nora, my Nora, the light fades away | Eugene Field | Norse Lullaby | The sky is dark and the hills are white | Anonymous | The North Wind Doth Blow | The north wind doth blow and we shall have snow | Robert Louis Stevenson | North-west Passage | When the bright lamp is carried in | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Not They Who Soar | Not they who soar, but they who plod | Alice Cary | November | The leaves are fading and falling, | Sara Teasdale | November | The world is tired, the year is old, | Walter de la Mare | November | There is wind where the rose was | Robert Frost | Now Close the Windows | Now close the windows and hush all the fields | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal | Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white | Mary Mapes Dodge | Now the Noisy Winds Are Still | Now the noisy winds are still | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Nuremberg | In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands | William Blake | Nurse's Song | When voices of children are heard on the green, | William Blake | Nurse's Song | When the voices of children are heard on the green and whisperings are in the dale | A. A. Milne | Nursery Chairs | One of the chairs is South America | Mrs. Carter | Nursery Song | As I walked over the hill one day | Anonymous | The Nut-Brown Maid | Be it right or wrong, these men among | Sir Walter Raleigh | The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd | If all the world and love were young | Walt Whitman | O Captain! My Captain! | O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done | Isaac Watts | O God, Our Help in Ages Past | O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, | Christina Georgina Rossetti | O Lady Moon | O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east: | Phillips Brooks | O Little Town of Bethlehem! | O little town of Bethlehem! How still we see thee lie, | Christina Georgina Rossetti | O Sailor, Come Ashore | O sailor, come ashore, What have you brought for me? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | O Wind | O wind, where have you been | Christina Georgina Rossetti | O Wind | O wind, why do you never rest | John Mason Neale | O'er the Hill and O'er the Vale | O'er the hill and o'er the vale come three kings together | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Oak | Live thy life, young and old, | Mary Howitt | The Oak Tree | Sing for the oak tree, the monarch of the wood | Phoebe Cary | Obedience | If you're told to do a thing, and mean to do it really | Robert Frost | October | O hushed October morning mild | Paul Laurence Dunbar | October | October is the treasurer of the year | Helen Hunt Jackson | October's Bright Blue Weather | O suns and skies and clouds of June, | George Cooper | October's Party | October gave a party; the leaves by hundreds came | Joseph Addison | An Ode | The spacious firmament on high with all the blue ethereal sky | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Ode for Memorial Day | Done are the toils and the wearisome marches | John Keats | Ode on a Grecian Urn | Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness | John Keats | Ode on Indolence | One morn before me were three figures seen | John Keats | Ode on Melancholy | No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist | John Keats | Ode to a Nightingale | My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains | William Wordsworth | Ode to Duty | Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Ode to Ethiopia | O Mother Race! to thee I bring | John Keats | Ode to Psyche | O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Ode to the West Wind | O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being | William Wordsworth | Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood | There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Oenone | There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier | Anonymous | Of a Rose | Lestenyt, lordynges, both elde and yinge | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Of Old Sat Freedom | Of old sat Freedom on the heights, | Walter de la Mare | Off the Ground | Three jolly Farmers, once bet a pound | Mary Mapes Dodge | An Offertory | Oh, the beauty of the Christ Child | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Oh! Yet We Trust | Oh! yet we trust that somehow good, will be the final goal of ill, | Hilda Conkling | Oh, My Hazel-Eyed Mother | Oh, my hazel-eyed mother, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Ol' Tunes | You kin talk about yer anthems | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Old Apple-Tree | There's a memory keeps a-runnin' through my weary head to-night | Hilda Conkling | The Old Bridge | The old bridge has a wrinkled face. | Rachel Lyman Field | Old Captains | Old captains are best, especially | Mary Howitt | Old Christmas | Now he who knows old Christmas, he knows a carle of worth | Anonymous | An Old Christmas Carol | As Joseph was a-waukin, he heard an angel sing, | Anonymous | An Old Christmas Carol | God bless the master of this house, | Anonymous | An Old Christmas Greeting | Sing Hey! Sing Hey! For Christmas Day | Anonymous | The Old Cloak | This winter's weather it waxeth cold | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Old Clock on the Stairs | Somewhat back from the village street | Rachel Lyman Field | The Old Coach Road | There's hardly a wheel rut left to show | Anonymous | Old Dame Cricket | Old Dame Cricket, down in a thicket, brought up her children nine | Anonymous | An Old English Carol | Sing high, sing low, sing to and fro, | Stephen Collins Foster | Old Folks at Home | Way down upon de Swanee Ribber | James Whitcomb Riley | Old Glory | Old Glory! say, who, by the ships and the crew, | James Whitcomb Riley | Old Granny Dusk | Old Granny Dusk, when the sun goes down | Alfred Noyes | Old Grey Squirrel | A great while ago there was a school-boy | Albert Gorton Greene | Old Grimes | Old Grimes is dead; that good old man | Walter de la Mare | The Old House | A very, very old house I know | Rachel Lyman Field | Old Houses | I think old houses are like Grandmothers | Oliver Wendell Holmes | Old Ironsides | Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! | Anna E. Skinner | Old King Winter | Old King Winter's on his throne in robes of ermine white | Rachel Lyman Field | Old Man Cutter | Old Man Cutter lives down by the shore | Edward Lear | An Old Man of Hong Kong | There was an old man of Hong Kong | Edward Lear | An Old Man on Some Rocks | There was an Old Man on some rocks | Rachel Lyman Field | Old Man Schooner | Old Man Schooner, where have you been? | Edward Lear | An Old Man Who Said "How" | There was an old man who said "How" | Edward Lear | An Old Man Who Said "Hush!" | There was an old man who said "Hush!" | Edward Lear | An Old Man Who Supposed | There was an Old Man who supposed | Edward Lear | An Old Man with a Beard | There was an old man with a beard | Beatrix Potter | Old Mr. Pricklepin | Old Mr. Pricklepin has never a cushion to stick his pins in | Samuel Woodworth | The Old Oaken Bucket | How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood | Edward Lear | An Old Person of Bow | There was an old person of Bow | Edward Lear | An Old Person of Ware | There was an old person of Ware | Rachel Lyman Field | The Old Postman | There's an old postman that I know | Laura E. Richards | An Old Rat's Tale | He was a rat, and she was a rat, | Rachel Lyman Field | The Old Schoolhouse | It's years since a scholar climbed the hill | Rachel Lyman Field | The Old Scotch Bagpiper | Up the long gray streets, in the whirling snow | Anonymous | An Old Song of Fairies | Come, follow, follow me, you, fairy elves that be: | John Masefield | An Old Song Re-Sung | I saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing, a-sailing | James Whitcomb Riley | The Old Swimmin'-Hole | Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep | Rachel Lyman Field | The Old Wharves | I'm sorry for the old wharves | Thomas Noel | Old Winter | Old Winter sad, in snow yclad | Charles Kingsley | The Old, Old Song | When all the world is young, lad and all the trees are green | Emily Dickinson | Old-Fashioned | Arcturis is his other name, | Alfred Noyes | On a Mountain Top | On this high altar, fringed with ferns | Alfred Lord Tennyson | On a Mourner | Nature, so far as in her lies | Alfred Noyes | On a Railway Platform | A drizzle of drifting rain | William Cowper | On a Spaniel, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird | A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, well fed, and at his ease, | William Blake | On Another's Sorrow | Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? | James Whitcomb Riley | On Any Ordenary Man in a High State of Laughture and Delight | As its give' me to percieve, I most certin'y believe | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | On Donne's Poetry | With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots | John Keats | On First Looking into Chapman's Homer | Much have I travelled in the realms of gold | John Milton | On His Blindness | When I consider how my light is spent | John Keats | On Receiving a Curious Shell, and a Copy of Verses | Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem | Kate Greenaway | On the Bridge | If I could see a little fish | Henry Constable | On the Death of Sir Philip Sidney | Give pardon, blesséd soul, to my bold cries | William Wetmore Story | On the Desert | All around to the bound of the vast horizon's round | Alfred Noyes | On the Downs | Wide-eyed our childhood roamed the world | John Keats | On the Grasshopper and the Cricket | The poetry of earth is never dead | Christina Georgina Rossetti | On the Grassy Banks | On the grassy banks lambkins at their pranks | William Dunbar | On the Nativity of Christ | Rorate coeli desuper! Hevins, distil your balmy schouris! | Lord Byron | On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year | 'Tis time the heart should be unmoved | Anonymous | Once I Saw a Little Bird | Once I saw a little bird come hop, hop, hop. | Cecil Frances Alexander | Once in Royal David's City | Once in royal David's city | Adelaide Anne Procter | One by One | One by one the sands are flowing | Paul Laurence Dunbar | One Life | Oh, I am hurt to death, my Love | Christina Georgina Rossetti | One Rose | I have but one rose in the world | Percy Bysshe Shelley | One Word | One word is too often profaned | Henry C. Bunner | One, Two, Three | It was an old, old, old, old lady, | Hilda Conkling | Only Morning-Glory That Flowered | Under the vine I saw one morning-glory | Edward Rowland Sill | Opportunity | This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Opportunity | Granny's gone a-visitin', seen her git her shawl | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Orange | What is pink? a rose is pink | John Greenleaf Whittier | Oriental Maxims: Conduct | Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day | John Greenleaf Whittier | Oriental Maxims: Laying Up Treasure | Before the Ender comes, whose charioteer | John Greenleaf Whittier | Oriental Maxims: The Inward Judge | The soul itself its awful witness is | William Shakespeare | Orpheus with His Lute | Orpheus with his lute made trees, | William Shakespeare | Othello, Act II, Scene 3 | Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, | Rudyard Kipling | Our Fathers of Old | Excellent herbs had our fathers of old— | Mary Howliston | Our Flag | There are many flags in many lands, | James Whitcomb Riley | Our Hired Girl | Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann; | George Wither | Our Joyful Feast | So, now is come our joyful feast | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Our Little Baby Fell Asleep | Our little baby fell asleep, and may not wake again | George MacDonald | Out in the Cold | Out in the cold, with a thin-worn fold | Emily Dickinson | Out of the Morning | Will there really be a morning? | Robert Frost | The Oven-bird | There is a singer everyone has heard | Anonymous | Over and Over Again | Over and over again, no matter which way I turn | William Shakespeare | Over Hill, Over Dale | Over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier | Olive A. Wadsworth | Over in the Meadow | Over in the meadow in a nest built of sticks | Olive A. Wadsworth | Over in the Meadow | Over in the meadow, in the sand, in the sun, | Eugene Field | Over the Hills and Far Away | Over the hills and far away a little boy steals from his morning play | Rudyard Kipling | The Overland-Mail | In the name of the Empress of India, make way | John Greenleaf Whittier | Overruled | The threads our hands in blindness spin | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Owl | When cats run home and light is come | Edward Lear | The Owl and the Pussy-Cat | The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat | Madison Cawein | The Owlet | When dusk is drowned in drowsy dreams | Thomas Hardy | The Oxen | Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Ozymandias of Egypt | I met a traveller from an antique land | William Shakespeare | The Pageant | Our revels now are ended: These our actors | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Palace of Art | I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house | Robert Frost | Pan with Us | Pan came out of the woods one day— | James Whitcomb Riley | Pansies | Pansies! Pansies! How I love you, pansies! | Robert Browning | From Paracelsus: First Song | I hear a voice, perchance I heard | Robert Browning | From Paracelsus: Second Song | Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes | Robert Browning | From Paracelsus: Third Song | Over the sea our galleys went | Rachel Lyman Field | Parrots | Whenever a parrot looks at me | Michael Drayton | The Parting | Since there 's no help, come let us kiss and part— | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Party | Dey had a gread big pahty down to Tom's de othah night | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Passage of the Apennines | Listen, listen, Mary mine, to the whisper of the Apennine, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Passion and Love | A maiden wept and, as a comforter | Christopher Marlowe | The Passionate Shepherd to His Love | Come live with me and be my love | Robert Frost | The Pasture | I'm going out to clean the pasture spring | Rachel Lyman Field | Pasture Song | Oh, for the beat of changing tides | Bernard De La Monnoye | Patapan | Willie, take your little drum | Robert Frost | A Patch of Old Snow | There's a patch of old snow in a corner | Rachel Lyman Field | Patchin Place | In Patchin Place, in Patchin Place | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Path | There are no beaten paths to Glory's height | Robert Browning | The Patriot | It was roses, roses all the way | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Paul Revere's Ride | Listen my children, and you shall hear | Robert Frost | Pea Brush | I walked down alone Sunday after church | Rachel Lyman Field | The Peabody Bird | Peabody! Peabody! Peabody! | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Peach Tree | The peach tree on the southern wall | Hilda Conkling | Peacock Feathers | On trees of fairyland grow peacock feathers of daylight colors | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Peacock's Eyes | The peacock has a score of eyes | Frank Dempster Sherman | Pebbles | Out of a pellucid brook, pebbles round and smooth I took: | William Brighty Rands | The Peddler's Caravan | I wish I lived in a caravan | Emily Dickinson | The Pedigree of Honey | The pedigree of honey, does not concern the bee; | Anonymous | A Pedlar | Fine knacks for ladies! cheap, choice, brave, and new | Hilda Conkling | Pegasus | Come dear Pegasus, I said | Emily Dickinson | Perhaps You'd Like To Buy a Flower | Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower? But I could never sell. | William Wordsworth | Personal Talk | I am not One who much or oft delight | William Wordsworth | The Pet Lamb | The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink | William Wordsworth | The Pet Lamb | The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; | Alfred Noyes | Peter Quince | Peter Quince was nine year old | Laura E. Richards | Peterkin Pout and Gregory Grout | "Oh, Peterkin Pout and Gregory Grout are two little goblins black, | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Phantom | All look and likeness caught from earth | Robert Browning | Pheidippides | First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! | Dinah Maria Mulock | Philip, My King! | Look at me with thy large brown eyes, | Nicholas Breton | Phillida and Coridon | In the merry month of May, in a morn by break of day | Thomas Lodge | Phillis I | My Phillis hath the morning sun | Thomas Lodge | Phillis II | Love guards the roses of thy lips | Sir Philip Sidney | Philomela | The Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth | Edna St. Vincent Millay | The Philosopher | And what are you that, wanting you | Anonymous | Phyllida's Love-Call | Corydon, arise, my Corydon! | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Phyllis | Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day | Robert Louis Stevenson | Picture-Books in Winter | Summer fading, winter comes—frosty mornings, tingling thumbs | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Browning | The Pied Piper of Hamelin | Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, by famous Hanover city; | Alice Cary | The Pig and the Hen | The pig and the hen, they both got in one pen | Michael Drayton | Pigwiggen Arms Himself | He quickly arms him for the field | John Bunyan | The Pilgrim | Who would true valor see, let him come hither! | Rudyard Kipling | A Pilgrim's Way | I do not look for holy saints to guide me on my way | Ann Taylor | The Pin | "Dear me! what signifies a pin | Richard Le Gallienne | The Pine Lady | O have you seen the Pine Lady | Hilda Conkling | Pink Rose-Petals | Pink rose-petals fluttering down in hosts | William Blake | The Piper | Piping down the valleys wild, piping songs of pleasant glee, | Rachel Lyman Field | The Piper | I had a willow whistle, I piped it on the hill | Robert Browning | Pippa's Song | The year's at the spring, and day's at the morn; | Robert Louis Stevenson | Pirate Story | Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Eugene Field | Pittypat and Tippytoe | All day long they come and go—Pittypat and Tippytoe | James Whitcomb Riley | The Pixy People | It was just a very merry fairy dream! | Charles Edward Carryl | The Plaint of the Camel | Canary birds feed on sugar and seed, | William Cullen Bryant | The Planting of the Apple-Tree | Come, let us plant the apple-tree. | Laurence Alma-Tadema | Playgrounds | In summer I am very glad | Rachel Lyman Field | The Playhouse Key | This is the key to the playhouse in the woods by the pebbly shore | Rudyard Kipling | Playing Robinson Crusoe | Pussy can sit by the fire and sing | Edward Lear | The Pobble Who Has No Toes | The Pobble who has no toes had once as many as we | Hilda Conkling | Poems | See the fur coats go by! | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Poet and His Song | A song is but a little thing | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Poet's Song | The rain had fallen, the Poet arose, | Rachel Lyman Field | The Pointed People | I don't know who they are, but when it's shadow time | William Blake | A Poison Tree | I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end | A. A. Milne | Politeness | If people ask me, I always tell them | William Brighty Rands | Polly | Brown eyes, straight nose; dirt pies, rumpled clothes | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Polly and Poll | I have a Poll parrot, and Poll is my doll | William Shakespeare | Polonius' Advice | See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue | William Shakespeare | Polonius's Advice | There,—my blessing with you! | Hilda Conkling | Poplars | The poplars bow forward and back; | Hilda Conkling | Poppy | Oh big red poppy you look stern and sturdy, | Jane Taylor | The Poppy | High on a bright and sunny bed a scarlet poppy grew | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Portrait by a Neighbor | Before she has her floor swept | Laura E. Richards | Pot and Kettle | "Oho! Oho!" said the pot to the kettle | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Pound | What will you give me for my pound? | Rudyard Kipling | The Power of the Dog | There is sorrow enough in the natural way | Anonymous | Praise of His Lady | Give place, you ladies, and begone! | Robert Mannyng of Brunne | Praise of Women | No thyng ys to man so dere | Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Prayer | O Lord, the hard-won miles have worn my stumbling feet | Edwin Markham | A Prayer | Teach me, Father, how to go | Robert Frost | A Prayer in Spring | Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day | James Whitcomb Riley | The Prayer Perfect | Dear Lord! kind Lord! Gracious Lord! I pray | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Praying and Loving | He prayeth best who loveth best | Emily Dickinson | Precious Words | He ate and drank the precious words | Thomas Hood | Precocious Piggy | "Where are you going to, you little pig?" | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Premonition | Dear heart, good-night! Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singing | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Preparation | The little bird sits in the nest and sings | Anonymous | Preparations | Yet if His Majesty, our sovereign lord | James Russell Lowell | The Present Crisis | Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, | Anonymous | A Pretty Game | The sun and the rain in fickle weather | Rachel Lyman Field | The Pretzel Man | The Pretzel Man has a little stand | Laura E. Richards | Prince Tatters | Little Prince Tatters has lost his cap! | James Whitcomb Riley | Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance | What makes you come here fer, Mister, | Ralph Waldo Emerson | The Problem | I like a church; I like a cowl | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Promise | I grew a rose within a garden fair | Emily Dickinson | Proof | That I did always love, I bring thee proof | Robert Browning | Prospice | "The journey is done, the summit attained, | Edmund Spenser | Prothalamion | Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayre | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | A Psalm of Life | Tell me not, in mournful numbers | Anonymous | Psalm XXIV | Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Psyche | The butterfly the ancient Grecians made | William Shakespeare | Puck and the Fairy | How now, spirit! whither wander you? | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Pumpkin | Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun | A. A. Milne | Puppy and I | I met a man as I went walking | Hilda Conkling | Purple Asters | It isn't alone the asters in my garden, | Gelett Burgess | The Purple Cow | I never saw a purple cow | Rachel Lyman Field | Pushcart Row | In rain or shine; in heat or snow | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Pussy Has a Whiskered Face | Pussy has a whiskered face | Anonymous | Pussy-Cat Mew | Pussy-Cat Mew jumped over a coal | Anonymous | The Quarrelsome Kittens | Two little kittens, one stormy night, began to quarrel, and then to fight; | Rachel Lyman Field | Queen Katharine of England | Oh, had I lived in England then, most tender and most tragic Queen | Thomas Hood | Queen Mab | A little fairy comes at night, her eyes are blue, her hair is brown, | Laura E. Richards | The Queen of the Orkney Islands | Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands | Eudora Bumstead | The Quest | There once was a restless boy, who dwelt in a home by the sea | Rudyard Kipling | The Question | Brethren how shall it fare with me | Oliver Wendell Holmes | "Qui Vive!" | "Qui vive!" The sentry's musket rings, | Anonymous | Quia Amore Langueo | In a valley of this restles mind | Rachel Lyman Field | The Quiet Child | By day it's a very good girl am I | Matthew Arnold | Quiet Work | One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee | Robert Browning | Rabbi Ben Ezra | Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be | Elizabeth Madox Roberts | The Rabbit | When they said the time to hide was mine | Anonymous | The Rabbits | Between the hill and the brook, ook, ook, | James Whitcomb Riley | The Raggedy Man | O the Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa | Anonymous | The Raggle, Taggle Gypsies | There were three gypsies a-come to my door, | Emily Dickinson | The Railway Train | I like to see it lap the miles, | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Rain | The rain is raining all around | illustrated by Myrtle Sheldon | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Sara Teasdale | Rain at Night | The street-lamps shine in a yellow line, | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Rain in Summer | How beautiful is the rain! after the dust and the heat | Rachel Lyman Field | Rain in the City | All the streets are a-shine with rain | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Rain-Songs | The rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky | Thomas Campbell | The Rainbow | Triumphal arch, that fills the sky | William Wordsworth | The Rainbow | My heart leaps up when I behold | Friedrich Schiller | The Rainbow a Riddle | A bridge weaves its arch with pearls | Lizzie M. Hadley | The Rainbow Fairies | Two little clouds one summer's day | Anonymous | The Raindrop's Ride | Some little drops of water whose home was in the sea | Amelia Josephine Burr | Raining | Raining, raining, all night long | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Rainy Day | The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; | Rachel Lyman Field | Rainy Nights | Always on rainy nights when my candle is blown out | Hilda Conkling | Rambler Rose | Rambler Rose in great clusters | Alexander Pope | The Rape of the Lock: Canto I | What dire offence from am'rous causes springs | Edgar Allan Poe | The Raven | Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, | Anna B. Warner | Ready for Duty | Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold | Sir Walter Scott | Rebecca's Hymn | When Israel, of the Lord beloved, out of the land of bondage came | Rudyard Kipling | Recessional | God of our fathers, known of old— | Hilda Conkling | Red Cross Song | When I heard the bees humming in the hive | Rachel Lyman Field | Red Leaf | Red leaf! Red Leaf! What tree did you grow on— | Hilda Conkling | Red Moon | The red moon comes out in the night. | Guy Wetmore Carryl | Red Riding Hood | Most worthy of praise were the virtuous ways of Little Red Riding Hood's ma | Hilda Conkling | Red Rooster | Red rooster in your gray coop | Hilda Conkling | Red-Cap Moss | Have you seen red-cap moss | Rachel Lyman Field | Red-Capped Moss | What Elf has left his cap behind? | William Wordsworth | The Redbreast Chasing the Butterfly | Art thou the bird whom Man loves best, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Religion | I am no priest of crooks nor creeds | Robert Frost | Reluctance | Out through the fields and the woods | Walter de la Mare | Remembrance | The sky was like a waterdrop | Rachel Lyman Field | Reminiscences | These old brown shoes climbed Bubble Mountain | Sydney Dayre | Remorse | I killed a robin. The little thing, | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Renascence | All I could see from where I stood | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Reproof | Hop-o'-My-Thumb and little Jack Horner, what do you mean by tearing and fighting? | Robert Louis Stevenson | Requiem | Under the wide and starry sky | Matthew Arnold | Requiescat | Strew on her roses, roses | John Greenleaf Whittier | Requirement | We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave | William Wordsworth | Resolution and Independence | There was a roaring in the wind all night | Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Rest | Rest is not quitting, the busy career; | Rachel Lyman Field | The Restless Balloon | Gay balloon, round and blue | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Retort | "Thou art a fool," said my head to my heart | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Retrospection | When you and I were young, the days | Alfred Noyes | A Return from the Air | Set the clocks going, turn on the light | Robert Frost | Revelation | We make ourselves a place apart | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Revenge | At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay | William Wordsworth | The Reverie of Poor Susan | At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, | Sir Thomas Wyatt | A Revocation | What should I say?—Since Faith is dead | Alfred Noyes | The Reward of Song | Why do we make our music? Oh, blind dark strings reply | Ralph Waldo Emerson | The Rhodora | In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods | Alfred Noyes | The Rhythm of Life | "Come back, to the tidal sun," the Angel of Morning said | A. A. Milne | Rice Pudding | What is the matter with Mary Jane? | William Shakespeare | Richard II, Act II, Scene 1 | This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, | Hannah More | A Riddle | I'm a strange contradiction; I'm new and I'm old | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Riddle | There is one that has a head without an eye | Eugene Field | The Ride to Bumpville | Play that my knee was a calico mare | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Riding to Town | When labor is light and the morning is fair | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Right's Security | What if the wind do howl without | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Excerpt from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" | He prayeth well who loveth well | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Ring | A ring upon her finger walks the bride | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Ring Out, Wild Bells | Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Rising of the Storm | The lake's dark breast is all unrest | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Rivals | 'Twas three an' thirty year ago | Lucy Larcom | The Rivulet | Run, little rivulet, run! Summer is fairly begun | Robert Frost | The Road Not Taken | Two roads diverged in a yellow wood | Olive Beaupré Miller | The Road to China | I learned today the world is round like my big rubber ball | Rachel Lyman Field | Roads | A road might lead to anywhere—to harbor towns and quays | Anonymous | The Robber Kitten | A kitten once to its mother said, "I'll never more be good, | William Cullen Bryant | Robert of Lincoln | Merrily swinging on brier and weed, | William Cullen Bryant | Robert of Lincoln | Merrily swinging on brier and weed, | Laurence Alma-Tadema | The Robin | When father takes his spade to dig | Celia Thaxter | The Robin | In the tall elm tree sat the Robin bright | Robert Henryson | Robin and Makyne | Robin sat on gude green hill | John Keats | Robin Hood | No! those days are gone away | Anonymous | Robin Hood and Little John | When Robin Hood was about twenty years old | Anonymous | Robin Hood and the Butcher | Come, all you brave gallants, and listen a while, | Anonymous | Robin Hood and the Ranger | When Phoebus had melted the sickles of ice, and likewise the mountains of snow | Emily Dickinson | The Robin Is the One | The robin is the one, that interrupts the morn | William Allingham | Robin Redbreast | Good-by, good-by to Summer! | Alfred Noyes | The Rock Pool | Bright as a fallen fragment of the sky | Eugene Field | The Rock-a-By Lady | The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby Street comes stealing; comes creeping | Mother Goose | Rock-a-Bye, Baby | Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top, | Josiah Gilbert Holland | Rockaby, Lullaby | Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover! | Josiah Gilbert Holland | Rockaby, Lullaby | Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover! | Hilda Conkling | Rolling In of the Wave | It was night when the sky was dark blue | Gabriel Setoun | Romance | I saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing on the sea | Robert Louis Stevenson | Romance | I will make you brooches and toys for your delight | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Romance of the Swan's Nest | Little Ellie sits alone 'mid the beeches of the meadow | Alexander Scott | A Rondel of Love | Lo, quhat it is to love learn ye that list to prove | Jane Euphemia Browne | The Rooks | The rooks are building on the trees | Thomas Lodge | Rosalind's Madrigal | Love in my bosom like a bee | Thomas Lodge | Rosaline | Like to the clear in highest sphere | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Rose | The rose with such a bonny blush | Robert Frost | Rose Pogonias | A saturated meadow | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Rose That Blushes | The rose that blushes rosy red | Hilda Conkling | Rose-Moss | Little Rose-moss beside the stone, | Hilda Conkling | Rose-Petal | Petal with rosy cheeks, petal with thoughts of your own, | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Rosy Maiden Winifred | Rosy maiden Winifred with a milkpail on her head | Laura E. Richards | Rosy Posy | There was a little Rosy, and she had a little nosy | Robert Charles | A Roundabout Turn | A toad that lived on Albury Heath wanted to see the world | illustrated by L. Leslie Brooke | Walter de la Mare | The Ruin | When the last colours of the day | Robert Frost | The Runaway | Once when the snow of the year was beginning to fall | Elizabeth Lee Follen | Runaway Brook | "Stop, stop, pretty water!" | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Rushes | Rushes in a watery place and reeds in a hollow | Alfred Noyes | The Rustling of Grass | I cannot tell why, but the rustling of grass | Thomas Hood | Ruth | She stood breast-high amid the corn, | Margaret Johnson | A Sad Little Lass | "Why sit you here, my lass?" said he. | Emily Dickinson | The Saddest Noise, the Sweetest Noise | The saddest noise, the sweetest noise, | Anonymous | The Sailors' Delight | Red sky at night is the sailors' delight; | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Saint Filomena (Florence Nightingale) | Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, | Anonymous | The Salcombe Seaman's Flaunt to the Proud Pirate | A lofty ship from Salcombe came, blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; | Robert Greene | Samela | Like to Diana in her summer weed | Rachel Lyman Field | The Sampler | A strange, strange thing it is to know my name was yours once long ago! | Anonymous | A Sand Castle | The tide is out, and all the strand is glistening in the summer sun; | A. A. Milne | Sand-Between-the-Toes | I went down to the shouting sea, taking Christopher down with me | Margaret Vandegrift | The Sandman | The rosy clouds float overhead | Celia Thaxter | The Sandpiper | Across the lonely beach we flit | Charles Kingsley | The Sands of Dee | "O Mary, go and call the cattle home | Rachel Lyman Field | Sandwich Men | There's something about Sandwich Men | Rachel Lyman Field | Sandy Sawyer | Strawberries grow for Sandy Sawyer | Anonymous | Santa Claus | He comes in the night! He comes in the night! | Emilie Poulsson | Santa Claus and the Mouse | One Christmas eve, when Santa Claus came to a certain house | Arthur Hugh Clough | Say Not, the Struggle Naught Availeth | Say not, the struggle naught availeth, the labor and the wounds are vain, | William Blake | The Schoolboy | I love to rise in a summer morn | Rachel Lyman Field | The Scissors-Grinder | Over the road when Spring begins and fields drop green to the bay | Walter de la Mare | The Scribe | What lovely things thy hand hath made | Andrew Lang | Scythe Song | Mowers, weary and brown and blithe | Anonymous | The Sea | The Sea is a good friend of mine; | Barry Cornwall | The Sea | The sea! the sea! the open sea! | Barry Cornwall | The Sea | The sea! the sea! the open sea! | Emily Dickinson | The Sea | An everywhere of silver, | William Shakespeare | A Sea Dirge | Full fathom five thy father lies: | John Masefield | Sea Fever | I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, | Richard Hovey | The Sea Gypsy | I am fevered with the sunset | Katherine Pyle | The Sea Princess | In a garden of shining sea-weed, | Anonymous | The Sea Princess | In a palace of pearl and seaweed, set around with shining shells, | Amy Lowell | The Sea Shell | Sea Shell, Sea Shell, sing me a song, O please! | James Whitcomb Riley | A Sea Song from the Shore | Hail! Ho! Sail! Ho! Ahoy! Ahoy! Ahoy! | Sara Teasdale | The Sea Wind | I am a pool in a peaceful place, | Alfred Noyes | Sea-Distances | His native sea-washed isle | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Sea-Fairies | Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw, | Hilda Conkling | Sea-Gull | From a yellow strip of sand I watch a gull go by. | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Sea-Horses | The horses of the sea rear a foaming crest | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Sea-Shore | I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea | Hilda Conkling | Seagarde | I will return to you O stillest and dearest, | Rudyard Kipling | Seal Lullaby | Oh, hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us | Alfred Noyes | The Search-Lights | Shadow by shadow, stripped for fight | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Second Fig | Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Secret | What says the wind to the waving trees? | Rachel Lyman Field | The Secret Land | Where the tallest tree trunks stand | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Secret of the Sea | Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Seedling | As a quiet little seedling lay within its darksome bed | Eugene Field | Seein' Things | I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice | Matthew Arnold | Self-Dependence | Weary of myself, and sick of asking | Robert Greene | Sephestia's Lullaby | Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee | Frank Dempster Sherman | September | Here's a lyric for September, | Helen Hunt Jackson | September | The goldenrod is yellow; the corn is turning brown | Rachel Lyman Field | September | Now the unseen crickets sing | William Wordsworth | September 1802: Near Dover | Inland, within a hollow vale, I stood | Frances Crosby | A Serenade for New Year's Eve | 'Tis midnight and nature is sunk to repose | Emily Dickinson | A Service of Song | Some keep the Sabbath going to church; | Wilhelmina Seegmuller | Seven Little Chicks | Seven little chicks go, "Peep, peep, peep," | Jean Ingelow | Seven Times One | There's no dew left on the daisies and clover | Anonymous | Sewing | If Mother Nature patches | Walter de la Mare | Shadow | Even the beauty of the rose doth cast | Lilian Dynevor Rice | Shadow-Town Ferry | Sway to and fro in the twilight gray; this is the ferry of Shadow-town | Rachel Lyman Field | The Shadows | Over the slopes of Sargent Mountain gallop the shadows like horse and hound | Hilda Conkling | Shady Bronn | When the clouds come deep against the sky | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Shakespeare | A vision as of crowded city streets, | Lord Byron | She Walks In Beauty | She walks in beauty like the night | William Wordsworth | She Was a Phantom of Delight | She was a Phantom of delight when first she gleamed upon my sight | Katharine Tynan Hinkson | Sheep and Lambs | All in the April morning, April airs were abroad | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Shell | See what a lovely shell, small and pure as a pearl, | William Blake | The Shepherd | How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot! | James Russell Lowell | The Shepherd of King Admetus | There came a youth upon the earth | Thomas Buchanan Read | Sheridan's Ride | Up from the South at break of day | Hilda Conkling | Shiny Brook | Oh, shiny brook, I watch you on your way to the sea, | Gabriel Setoun | The Ship | I saw a ship a-sailing | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Ship of State | Sail on, sail on, O Ship of State! | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Ship-Builders | The sky is ruddy in the east | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Ships That Pass in the Night | Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing | Edith M. Thomas | Shoe or Stocking | In Holland, children set their shoes | A. A. Milne | Shoes and Stockings | There's a cavern in the mountain where the old men meet | Hilda Conkling | Short Story | I found the gold on the hill; I found the hid gold! | Eugene Field | Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks | Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks sit together, building blocks | Eugene Field | The Shut-Eye Train | Come, my little one, with me! | William Blake | The Sick Rose | O rose thou art sick | Hilda Conkling | Siegfried | "Siegfried, hear us! Give us back the ring!" | Edward Jenner | Signs of Rain | The hollow winds begin to blow, the clouds look black, the glass is low | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Signs of the Times | Air a-gittin' cool an' coolah | Sir Walter Raleigh | The Silent Lover | Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams | Walter de la Mare | Silver | Slowly, silently, now the moon | Hamish Hendry | Silver Bells | Across the snow the Silver Bells | Elinor Wylie | Silver Filigree | The icicles wreathing | Hilda Conkling | Silverhorn | It is out in the mountains I find him | William Shakespeare | Silvia | Who is Silvia? what is she, | Mother Goose | Simple Simon | Simple Simon met a pieman going to the fair | Anonymous | Since First I Saw Your Face | Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye | Mother Goose | Sing a Song of Sixpence | Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye: | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Sing Me a Song | Sing me a song—what shall I sing? | William Motherwell | Sing on, Blithe Bird! | I've plucked the berry from the bush, the brown nut from the tree, | Anonymous | Sing, Little Bird | Sing, little bird, when the skies are blue, | Lucy Larcom | The Sing-Away Bird | Have you ever heard of the Sing-away bird | Rudyard Kipling | From The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo | This is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a Boomer | Edmund Clarence Stedman | The Singer | O Lark! sweet lark! Where learn you all your minstrelsy? | Robert Louis Stevenson | Singing | Of speckled eggs the birdie sings | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | Singing Time | I wake up in the morning early | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Sir Galahad | My good blade carves the casques of men | Anonymous | Sir Patrick Spens | The king sits in Dunfermline town, | Lucy Larcom | Sir Robin | Rollicking Robin is here again. | Michael Drayton | Sirena | Near to the silver Trent Sirena dwelleth | Anonymous | Sister, Awake! | Sister, awake! close not your eyes! | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Skeleton in Armor | "Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! | Alfred Noyes | A Sky Song | The Devil has launched his great, grey craft | Alfred Noyes | The Sky-Lark Caged | Beat, little breast, against the wires | James Hogg | The Skylark | Bird of the wilderness, blithesome and cumberless | Rachel Lyman Field | Skyscrapers | Do skyscrapers ever grow tired of holding themselves up high? | Emily Dickinson | A Slash of Blue | A slash of Blue—A sweep of Gray | Sir Philip Sidney | Sleep | Come, Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | The Sleep | Of all the thoughts of God that are | Anonymous | Sleep, Baby, Sleep! | Sleep, baby, sleep! Thy father watches his sheep | Edith Nesbit | Sleep, My Treasure | Sleep, sleep, my treasure | Arthur Hugh Clough | A Sleeping Child | Lips, lips, open! Up comes a little bird that lives inside | Emily Dickinson | The Sleeping Flowers | "Whose are the little beds," I asked | William Wordsworth | A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal | A slumber did my spirit seal, I had no human fears | Christopher Morley | Smells | Why is it that the poets tell | Emily Dickinson | The Snake | A narrow fellow in the grass | Emily Dickinson | The Snow | It sifts from leaden sieves, | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Snow | There's snow on the fields and cold in the cottage | F. C. Woodworth | The Snow Bird | The ground was all covered with snow one day | Rickman Mark | Snow in Town | Nothing is quite so quiet and clean | Sara Teasdale | Snow Song | Fairy snow, fairy snow, | Frank Dempster Sherman | Snow Song | Over valley, over hill, hark, the shepherd piping shrill | Frank Dempster Sherman | The Snow-Bird | When all the ground with snow is white, | Hilda Conkling | Snow-Capped Mountain | Snow-capped mountain, so white, so tall | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Snow-Flakes | Out of the bosom of the Air | Ralph Waldo Emerson | The Snow-Storm | Announced by all the trumpets of the sky | Ralph Waldo Emerson | From The Snow-Storm | Announced by all the trumpets of the sky | Hezekiah Butterworth | The Snowbird | In the rosy light trills the gay swallow, | John Greenleaf Whittier | Snowbound | The sun that brief December day | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Snowdrop | Many, many welcomes, February, fair maid, | Laurence Alma-Tadema | Snowdrops | Little ladies, white and green, with your spears about you | Hilda Conkling | Snowflake Song | Snowflakes come in fleets like ships over the sea. | Mary Mapes Dodge | Snowflakes | Whenever a snowflake leaves the sky | Hilda Conkling | Snowstorm | Snowflakes are dancing. They run down out of heaven. | Lord Byron | So We'll Go No More A-Roving | So we'll go no more a-roving | Eugene Field | So, So, Rockabye So | So, so, rock-a-by so! Off to the garden where dreamikins grow | Sir Walter Scott | "Soldier, Rest!" | Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, | William Wordsworth | The Solitary Reaper | Behold her, single in the field, | Alexander Pope | Solitude | Happy the man, whose wish and care | William Cowper | The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk | I am monarch of all I survey | Laura E. Richards | Some Fishy Nonsense | Timothy Tiggs and Tomothy Toggs, they both went a-fishing for pollothywogs | Anonymous | Some Little Mice | Some little mice sat in a barn to spin; | Peter Carlson | Some Names in the U. S. of A. | Walla Walla, Paw Paw, Kalamazoo | Walter de la Mare | Some One | Some one came knocking at my wee, small door; | Rachel Lyman Field | Some People | Isn't it strange some people make you feel so tired inside | Rose Fyleman | Sometimes | Some nights are magic nights | Kate Greenaway | Somewhere Town | Which is the way to Somewhere Town? | Mark Alexander Boyd | Sonet | Fra bank to bank, fra wood to wood I rin | Sir Philip Sidney | Song | Who hath his fancy pleaséd with fruits of happy sight | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Song | My heart to thy heart, my hand to thine | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Song | My soul, lost in the music's mist | Alfred Noyes | Song | I came to the door of the House of Love | William Blake | Song | Memory, hither come, and tune your merry notes | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Song | A sunny shaft did I behold | Thomas Love Peacock | Song | For the tender beech and the sapling oak, that grow by the shadowy rill | Hilda Conkling | Song | A scarlet bird went sailing away through the wood | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Song | The wind blows east, the wind blows west, | James Whitcomb Riley | A Song | There is ever a song somewhere, my dear; | Christopher Morley | Song for a Little House | I'm glad our house is a little house | Rachel Lyman Field | Song for a Pasture | There's a little island pasture that I know, know, know | Hilda Conkling | Song for a Play | Soldier drop that golden spear! | Thomas Hood | Song for Music | A lake and a fairy boat to sail in the moonlight clear | Anna Hempstead Branch | A Song for My Mother: Her Hands | My mother's hands are cool and fair, | Irene Rutherford McLeod | Song from "April" | I know where the wind flowers blow! | Joseph Rodman Drake | Song from "The Culprit Fay" | Ouphe and Goblin! Imp and Sprite! | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: Good Luck Befall You, Mariners All | Good luck befall you, mariners all, that sail this world so wide! | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: Happy by the Hearth | Happy by the hearth sit the lasses and the lads, now | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: In Devonshire, Now | In Devonshire, now, the Christmas chime is carolling over the lea | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: It Is the Spring-tide Now | It is the Spring-tide now! Under the hawthorn-bough | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: Now the Purple Night Is Past | Now the purple night is past, now the moon more faintly glows | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: Nymphs and Naiads, Come Away | Nymphs and naiads, come away—Love lies dead! | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: O You Beautiful Land | O you beautiful land, deep-bosomed with beeches and bright | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: Sing We the Rose | Sing we the Rose, the flower of flowers most glorious! | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: The Moon Is Up | The moon is up: the stars are bright: the wind is fresh and free! | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: The Same Sun Is O'er Us | The same sun is o'er us, the same Love shall find us | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: The Same Sun Is O'er Us II | The same Sun is o'er us, the same Love shall find us | Alfred Noyes | Song from Drake: Ye That Follow the Vision | Ye that follow the vision of the world's weal afar | Bayard Taylor | The Song in Camp | "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Song of a Second April | April this year, not otherwise | Josephine Peabody Preston | The Song of a Shepherd Boy at Bethlehem | Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary: Rest Thee now | Helen Hunt Jackson | A Song of Clover | I wonder what the Clover thinks | Celia Thaxter | A Song of Easter | Sing, children, sing! And the lily censers swing | Walter de la Mare | Song of Enchantment | A Song of Enchantment I sang me there, in a green—green wood, by waters fair | Walter de la Mare | The Song of Finis | At the edge of All the Ages a Knight sate on his steed | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Song of Hiawatha | Should you ask me, whence these stories? | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Song of Illyrian Peasants | Up, up, ye dames, ye lassies gay | Charles Mackay | Song of Life | A traveller on a dusty road | Lewis Carroll | A Song of Love | Say, what is the spell, when her fledglings are cheeping, | William Cullen Bryant | Song of Marion's Men | Our band is few but true and tried, our leader frank and bold | Walt Whitman | Song of Myself | I celebrate myself, and sing myself | Thomas Love Peacock | A Song of Robin Hood's Men | The slender beech and the sapling oak, that grow by the shadowy rill | Walter de la Mare | The Song of Shadows | Sweep thy faint Strings, Musician | Alfred Noyes | A Song of Sherwood | Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake? | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Song of Summer | Dis is gospel weathah sho' | Marian Douglas | The Song of the Busy Bee | Buzz! buzz! buzz! This is the song of the bee. | Sydney Lanier | Song of the Chattahoochee | Out of the hills of Habersham, | Madison Cawein | Song of the Elf | When the poppies with their shield | William Butler Yeats | The Song of the Happy Shepherd | The woods of Arcady are dead | Walter de la Mare | The Song of the Mad Prince | Who said, 'Peacock Pie?' the old King to the sparrow | Alfred Noyes | A Song of the Plough | Idle, comfortless, bare, the broad bleak acres lie | Charles Kingsley | Song of the River | Clear and cool, clear and cool, | Walter de la Mare | The Song of the Secret | Where is beauty? Gone, gone: | Thomas Hood | The Song of the Shirt | With fingers weary and worn, with eyelids heavy and red | Madison Cawein | A Song of the Snow | Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn | Walter de la Mare | The Song of the Soldiers | As I sat musing by the frozen dyke, | William Butler Yeats | The Song of Wandering Aengus | I went out to the hazel wood, | John Milton | Song on a May Morning | Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, | Alfred Noyes | The Song-Tree | Grow, my song, like a tree, as thou hast ever grown | William Blake | From Songs of Experience | Hear the voice of the Bard, who present, past, and future, sees; | William Wordsworth | Sonnet | Earth has not anything to show more fair: | Edgar Allan Poe | Sonnet — To Science | Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 1 | Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,—no | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 1 | From fairest creatures we desire increase | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 10 | For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 100 | Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 101 | O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends for thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 102 | My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 103 | Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 104 | To me, fair friend, you never can be old | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 105 | Let not my love be called idolatry | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 106 | When in the chronicle of wasted time | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 107 | Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 108 | What's in the brain, that ink may character | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 109 | O, never say that I was false of heart | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 11 | As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 110 | Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 111 | O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 112 | Your love and pity doth th' impression fill | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 113 | Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 114 | Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 115 | Those lines that I before have writ do lie | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 116 | Let me not to the marriage of true minds | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 117 | Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 118 | Like as, to make our appetites more keen | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 119 | What potions have I drunk of Siren tears | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 12 | When I do count the clock that tells the time | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 120 | That you were once unkind befriends me now | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 121 | 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 122 | Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 123 | No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 124 | If my dear love were but the child of state | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 125 | Were't aught to me I bore the canopy | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 126 | O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 127 | In the old age black was not counted fair | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 128 | How oft when thou, my music, music play'st | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 129 | The expense of spirit in a waste of shame | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 13 | O! that you were your self; but, love you are | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 130 | My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 131 | Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 132 | Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 133 | Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 134 | So, now I have confessed that he is thine | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 14 | Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 15 | When I consider every thing that grows | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 15 | Only until this cigarette is ended | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 16 | Once more into my arid days like dew | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 16 | But wherefore do not you a mightier way | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 17 | Who will believe my verse in time to come | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 18 | Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 19 | Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 2 | When forty winters shall besiege thy brow | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 2 | Time does not bring relief; you all have lied | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 20 | A woman's face with nature's own hand painted | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 21 | So is it not with me as with that Muse | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 22 | My glass shall not persuade me I am old | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 23 | As an unperfect actor on the stage | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 24 | Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stell'd | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 24 | When you, that at this moment are to me | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 25 | Let those who are in favour with their stars | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 26 | Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 27 | Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 28 | How can I then return in happy plight | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 29 | When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 3 | Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 3 | Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 30 | When to the sessions of sweet silent thought | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 31 | Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 31 | Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word! | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 32 | Here is a wound that never will heal, I know | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 32 | If thou survive my well-contented day | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 33 | Full many a glorious morning have I seen | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 33 | I shall go back again to the bleak shore | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 34 | Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 35 | No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 36 | Let me confess that we two must be twain | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 37 | As a decrepit father takes delight | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 38 | How can my muse want subject to invent | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 39 | O! how thy worth with manners may I sing | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 4 | Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 4 | Not in this chamber only at my birth | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 40 | Loving you less than life, a little less | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 40 | Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 41 | Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 42 | That thou hast her it is not all my grief | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 43 | When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 44 | If the dull substance of my flesh were thought | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 45 | The other two, slight air, and purging fire | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 46 | Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 47 | Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 48 | How careful was I when I took my way | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 49 | Against that time, if ever that time come | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 5 | Those hours, that with gentle work did frame | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 5 | If I should learn, in some quite casual way | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 50 | How heavy do I journey on the way | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 51 | Thus can my love excuse the slow offence | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 52 | So am I as the rich, whose blessed key | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 53 | What is your substance, whereof are you made | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 54 | O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 55 | Not marble, nor the gilded monuments | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 56 | Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 57 | Being your slave what should I do but tend | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 58 | That god forbid, that made me first your slave | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 59 | If there be nothing new, but that which is | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 6 | Then let not winter's ragged hand deface | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 6 | This door you might not open, and you did | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 60 | Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 61 | Is it thy will, thy image should keep open | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 62 | Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 63 | Against my love shall be as I am now | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 64 | When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 65 | Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 66 | Tired with all these, for restful death I cry | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 67 | Ah! wherefore with infection should he live | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 68 | Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 69 | Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 7 | Lo! in the orient when the gracious light | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 7 | I do but ask that you be always fair | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 70 | That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 71 | No longer mourn for me when I am dead | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 72 | O! lest the world should task you to recite | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 73 | That time of year thou mayst in me behold | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 74 | But be contented: when that fell arrest | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 75 | So are you to my thoughts as food to life | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 76 | Why is my verse so barren of new pride | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 77 | Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 78 | So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 79 | Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 8 | Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 80 | O! how I faint when I of you do write | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 81 | Or I shall live your epitaph to make | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 82 | I grant thou wert not married to my Muse | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 83 | I never saw that you did painting need | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 84 | Who is it that says most, which can say more | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 85 | My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 86 | Was it the proud full sail of his great verse | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 87 | Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 88 | When thou shalt be disposed to set me light | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 89 | Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnet 9 | I think I should have loved you presently | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 9 | Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 90 | Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 91 | Some glory in their birth, some in their skill | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 92 | But do thy worst to steal thyself away | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 93 | So shall I live, supposing thou art true | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 94 | They that have power to hurt, and will do none | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 95 | How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 96 | Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 97 | How like a winter hath my absence been | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 98 | From you have I been absent in the spring | William Shakespeare | Sonnet 99 | The forward violet thus did I chide | Lord Byron | Sonnet on Chillon | Eternal spirit of the chainless mind! | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet I | I thought once how Theocritus had sung | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet II | But only three in all God's universe | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet III | Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet IV | Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet IX | Can it be right to give what I can give | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet V | I lift my heavy heart up solemnly | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet VI | Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet VII | The face of all the world is changed, I think | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet VIII | What can I give thee back, O liberal | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet XLIII | How do I love thee? Let me count the ways | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets from the Portuguese: Sonnet XLIV | Belovéd, thou hast brought me many flowers | Rudyard Kipling | The Sons of Martha | The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sorrow | Sorrow like a ceaseless rain | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Sound of the Sea | The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Sowing | I planted a hand and there grew up a palm | Hilda Conkling | Sparkle | Sparkle up, little tired flower | Hilda Conkling | Sparkling Drop of Water | The sun shone, All was still. The sun made one sparkle in one drop | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Sparrow | A little bird, with plumage brown | Mary Howitt | The Sparrow's Nest | Nay, only look what I have found! A sparrow's nest upon the ground | Anonymous | Speak Gently | Speak gently; it is better far to rule by love than fear | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Speakin' o' Christmas | Breezes blowin' middlin' brisk | Alfred Noyes | A Spell for a Fairy | Gather, first, in your left hand | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Spellin'-Bee | I never shall furgit that night when father hitched up Dobbin | Ralph Waldo Emerson | The Sphinx | The Sphinx is drowsy, her wings are furled | Mary Howitt | The Spider and the Fly | "Will you walk into my parlor?" said a spider to a fly | Alfred Lord Tennyson | A Spirit Haunts the Year's Last Hours | A Spirit haunts the year's last hours dwelling amid these yellowing bowers | Sir Philip Sidney | Splendidis Longum Valedico Nugis | Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Splendor Falls | The splendor falls on castle walls | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Spring | Now fades the last long streak of snow; | Thomas Nashe | Spring | Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; | Percy Bysshe Shelley | Spring | And the Spring arose on the garden fair, | Celia Thaxter | Spring | The alder by the river shakes out her powdery curls; | William Blake | Spring | Sound the flute! Now it's mute | "A" | Spring and Summer | Spring is growing up, is not it a pity? | Edna St. Vincent Millay | The Spring and the Fall | In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year | William Shakespeare | Spring and Winter | When daisies pied and violets blue | Oliver Wendell Holmes | Spring Has Come | The sunbeams, lost for half a year, | A. A. Milne | Spring Morning | Where am I going? I don't quite know | Sara Teasdale | Spring Night | The park is filled with night and fog, | George Eliot | Spring Song | Spring comes hither, buds the rose | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Spring Song | A blue-bell springs upon the ledge | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Spring Song | I know why the yellow forsythia | Hilda Conkling | Spring Song | I love daffodils. I love Narcissus when he bends his head. | King James I of Scotland | Spring Song of the Birds | Worschippe ye that loveris bene this May | Thomas Miller | The Spring Walk | We had a pleasant walk to-day | Isabel Eccelstone Mackay | Spring's Waking | A snowdrop lay in the sweet, dark ground. | John Lyly | Spring's Welcome | What bird so sings, yet so does wail? | Anonymous | Spring-tide | Lenten ys come with love to toune | Alfred Lord Tennyson | St. Agnes' Eve | Deep on the convent-roof the snows | Lord Byron | Stanzas for Music: Bright be the Place | Bright be the place of thy soul! No lovelier spirit than thine | Lord Byron | Stanzas for Music: None of Beauty's Daughters | There be none of Beauty's daughters with a magic like thee | Lord Byron | Stanzas for Music: There's Not a Joy | There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away | James Russell Lowell | Stanzas on Freedom | Is true Freedom but to break | Sara Teasdale | The Star | A white star born in the evening glow | Francis Scott Key | The Star-Spangled Banner | O! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light | Robert Graves | Star-Talk | "Are you awake, Gemelli, this frosty night?" | Sara Teasdale | Stars | Alone in the night, on a dark hill | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Stars | What do the stars do up in the sky | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Stars | If stars dropped out of heaven | Robert Frost | Stars | How countlessly they congregate | Robert Browning | The Statue and the Bust | There's a palace in Florence, the world knows well | Rachel Lyman Field | The Stay-Ashores | The sheets hung out on the roof to dry | Katherine Miller | Stevenson's Birthday | "How I should like a birthday!" said the child, | Alexander Smart | The Still Small Voice | Wee Sandy in the corner sits greeting on a stool | Robert Frost | Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening | Whose woods these are I think I know | Robert Frost | Storm Fear | When the wind works against us in the dark | John Greenleaf Whittier | Storm on Lake Asquam | A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw | Laurence Alma-Tadema | Strange Lands | Where do you come from, Mr. Jay? | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Strong Son of God, Immortal Love | Strong Son of God, immortal Love, whom we, that have not seen thy face, | Robert Herrick | The Succession of the Four Sweet Months | First, April, she with mellow showers | James Whitcomb Riley | A Sudden Shower | Barefooted boys scud up the street | Eugene Field | The Sugar-Plum Tree | Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Summer | Winter is cold-hearted, Spring is yea and nay, | A. A. Milne | Summer Afternoon | Six brown cows walk down to drink | Rachel Lyman Field | Summer Afternoon | "Little Anne! Little Anne! Where are you going | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Summer Days | Winter is cold-hearted; Spring is yea and nay | Walter de la Mare | Summer Evening | The sandy cat by the Farmer's chair | Rachel Lyman Field | A Summer Morning | I saw dawn creep across the sky, and all the gulls go flying by | Matthew Arnold | A Summer Night | In the deserted, moon-blanched street | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Summer Nights | The summer nights are short where northern days are long | Emily Dickinson | Summer Shower | A drop fell on the apple tree, | Robert Louis Stevenson | Summer Sun | Great is the sun, and wide he goes through empty heaven with repose | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Mary Howitt | Summer Woods | Come ye into the summer woods; | Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Summer's Night | The night is dewy as a maiden's mouth | Hilda Conkling | Summer-Day Song | Wild birds fly over me. I am not the blue curtain overhead | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Sums | 1 and 1 are 2—That's for me and you. | Hilda Conkling | Sun Flowers | Sun-flowers, stop growing! If you touch the sky where those clouds are passing | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Sun Travels | The sun is not a-bed, when I at night upon my pillow lie | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Rachel Lyman Field | Sunday | Along this road the fir trees grow | Anonymous | Sunny Bank | As I sat on a sunny bank, on Christmas Day | Hilda Conkling | Sunset | Once upon a time at evening-light | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Sunset | The river sleeps beneath the sky | Mary Howitt | Sunshine | I love the sunshine everywhere | Phœbe Cary | Suppose | Suppose, my little lady, your doll should break her head | William Wordsworth | Surprised by Joy | Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind | Rudyard Kipling | Sussex | God gave all men all earth to love | Alfred Noyes | The Sussex Sailor | O, once, by Cuckmere Haven, I heard a sailor sing | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Swallow | Fly away, fly away, over the sea, | Sara Teasdale | Swallow Flight | I love my hour of wind and light, | Edwin Arnold | The Swallow's Nest | Day after day her nest she moulded, | Anonymous | Swallow, Swallow | Swallow, Swallow, neighbor Swallow, starting on your autumn flight | Edwin Arnold | The Swallows | Gallant and gay in their doublets gray | William Ellery Leonard | The Swan and the Goose | A rich man bought a Swan and a Goose | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Sweet and Low | Sweet and low, sweet and low, wind of the western sea | John Milton | Sweet Is the Breath of Morn | Sweet Is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet | Emily Dickinson | Sweet Is the Swamp with Its Secrets | Sweet is the swamp with its secrets, | John Keats | Sweet Peas | Here are sweetpeas, on tiptoe for a flight: | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Swift and Sure | Swift and sure the swallow | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Swing | How do you like to go up in a swing | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Guy Wetmore Carryl | The Sycophantic Fox and the Gullible Raven | A raven sat upon a tree, and not a word he spoke | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Sympathy | I know what the caged bird feels, alas! | Alfred Noyes | The Symphony | Wonder in happy eyes fades, fades away | Robert Louis Stevenson | System | Every night my prayers I say, and get my dinner every day | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Edward Lear | The Table and the Chair | Said the Table to the Chair | William Wordsworth | The Tables Turned | Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Tact | What boots it, thy virtue, what profit thy parts | Rachel Lyman Field | Taking Root | If I should sit the summer through | Edgar Allan Poe | Tamerlane | Kind solace in a dying hour | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Tavern | I'll keep a little tavern | Rachel Lyman Field | Taxis | Ho, for taxis green or blue | Anonymous | Tears | Weep you no more, sad fountains | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Tears of Heaven | Heaven weeps above the earth all night till morn, | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Tears, Idle Tears | Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, | A. A. Milne | Teddy Bear | A bear, however hard he tries, grows tubby without exercise | Eugene Field | Teeny Weeny | Every evening, after tea | Robert Frost | The Telephone | "When I was just as far as I could walk | Hilda Conkling | Tell Me | Tell me quiet things when it is shadowy: | Eugene Field | Telling the Bees | Out of the house where the slumberer lay | John Greenleaf Whittier | Telling the Bees | Here is the place; right over the hill | Padraic Colum | The Terrible Robber Men | O! I wish the sun was bright in the sky, | William Cullen Bryant | Thanatopsis | To him who in the love of Nature holds | Jane Taylor | Thank You, Pretty Cow | Thank you, pretty cow, that made pleasant milk to soak my bread | John Kendrick Bangs | A Thanksgiving | For summer rain, and winter's sun | Amelia Barr | Thanksgiving | Have you cut the wheat in the blowing fields | Lydia Maria Child | Thanksgiving Day | Over the river and through the wood | Oliver Herford | A Thanksgiving Fable | It was a hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving morn | A. A. Milne | The Four Friends | Ernest was an elephant, a great big fellow | A. A. Milne | The Three Foxes | Once upon a time there were three little foxes | Hilda Conkling | Theatre-Song | Eagles were flying over the sky | Anonymous | There Is a Lady Sweet and Kind | There is a Lady sweet and kind, was never face so pleased my mind | James Whitcomb Riley | There Was a Cherry-Tree | There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows cool even now the fevered sight that knows | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | There Was a Little Girl | There was a little girl, who had a little curl, | Wilhelmina Seegmuller | There Was a Little Robin | There was a little robin sat singing in a tree | Edward Lear | There Was an Old Person Whose Habits | There was an Old Person whose habits induced him to feed upon rabbits | Christina Georgina Rossetti | There's Nothing Like the Rose | The lily has an air, and the snowdrop a grace | Phoebe Cary | They Didn't Think | Once a trap was baited with a piece of cheese | Hilda Conkling | A Thing Forgotten | White owl is not gloomy; | John Keats | A Thing of Beauty | A thing of beauty is a joy for ever | Edward Rowland Sill | The Things That Will Not Die | What am I glad will stay when I have passed | Anonymous | Thirty Days Hath September | Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November | Emily Dickinson | This Is My Letter to the World | This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me, | Rachel Lyman Field | This Is the Place | This is the place where hills loom far | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison | Well, they are gone, and here must I remain | Mother Goose | This Pig Went to Market | This pig went to market; this pig stayed at home; | William Shakespeare | This Was the Noblest Roman | This was the noblest Roman of them all: | Anonymous | This World's Joy | Wynter wakeneth al my care | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Thorns and Honey | A rose has thorns as well as honey | Thomas Moore | Those Evening Bells | Those evening bells! those evening bells! | Robert Louis Stevenson | A Thought | It is very nice to think the world is full of meat and drink | illustrated by Myrtle Sheldon | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | William Wordsworth | Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzerland | Two Voices are there; one is of the sea, | Sara Teasdale | Thoughts | When I can make my thoughts come forth | Sara Teasdale | Thoughts | When I am all alone, envy me most, | Rachel Lyman Field | Thoughts | Thoughts are so queer, you never know what they will be about | Hilda Conkling | Thoughts | My thoughts keep going far away | Rudyard Kipling | The Thousandth Man | One man in a thousand, Solomon says | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Three Bells of Glasgow | Beneath the low-hung night cloud | Phoebe Cary | Three Bugs | Three little bugs in a basket, and hardly room for two! | Charles Kingsley | The Three Fishers | Three fishers went sailing out into the west | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Three Kings | Three kings came riding from far away | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Three Little Children | Three little children on the wide wide earth | Anonymous | Three Little Kittens | Three little kittens lost their mittens and they began to cry | Anonymous | Three Little Maidens | There were three little maidens as busy as elves, | Anonymous | Three Little Owlets | Three little owlets in a hollow tree | Hilda Conkling | Three Loves | Angel-love, Fairy-love, Wave-love, Which will you choose? | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Three Plum Buns | Three plum buns to eat here at the stile | John Keats | Three Sonnets on Woman: First Sonnet | Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain | John Keats | Three Sonnets on Woman: Second Sonnet | Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair | John Keats | Three Sonnets On Woman: Third Sonnet | Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being? | Hilda Conkling | Three Thoughts of My Heart | As I was straying by the forest brook | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Threnody | The south wind brings life, sunshine, and desire | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Throstle | "Summer is coming, summer is coming, | Rachel Lyman Field | Thrushes | The sweetest sound I ever heard was a thrush that sang to her baby bird | Hilda Conkling | Thunder Shower | The dark cloud raged. Gone was the morning light. | Emily Dickinson | A Thunder-Storm | The wind begun to rock the grass | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Tide Rises | The tide rises, the tide falls, the twilight darkens, the curlew calls | Rachel Lyman Field | Tides | The tide is high! The tide is high! | William Blake | The Tiger | Tiger! tiger! burning bright, in the forests of the night, | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Time Draws Near | The time draws near the birth of Christ | Robert Louis Stevenson | Time To Rise | A birdie with a yellow bill hopped upon my window sill | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Frost | A Time To Talk | When a friend calls to me from the road | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Time, Real and Imaginary | On the wide level of a mountain's head | Ralph Hodgson | Time, You Old Gipsy Man | Time, you old gipsy man, will you not stay, | Robert Southwell | Times Go by Turns | The loppéd tree in time may grow again | William Wordsworth | Tintern Abbey | Five years have past; five summers, with the length | Walter de la Mare | Tired Tim | Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him. | Christopher Morley | Tit for Tat | I often pass a gracious tree | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Tithonus | The woods decay, the woods decay and fall | Ralph Waldo Emerson | The Titmouse | You shall not be overbold | Ralph Waldo Emerson | From The Titmouse | Piped a tiny voice hard by, gay and polite, a cheerful cry | John Greenleaf Whittier | To ——: Lines Written After a Summer Day's Excursion | Fair Nature's priestesses to whom | William Wordsworth | To a Butterfly | Stay near me—do not take thy flight! | William Wordsworth | To a Butterfly | I've watched you now a full half hour | William Wordsworth | To a Child: Written in Her Album | Small service is true service while it lasts. | William Dunbar | To a Lady | Sweet rois of vertew and of gentilness | Walt Whitman | To a Locomotive in Winter | Thee for my recitative | Robert Burns | To a Mountain Daisy | Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, | Robert Burns | To a Mouse | Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, | Percy Bysshe Shelley | To a Sky-Lark | Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, | William Wordsworth | To a Sky-Lark | Up with me! up with me into the clouds! | William Wordsworth | To a Skylark | Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! | William Cullen Bryant | To a Waterfowl | Whither, midst falling dew, | Alfred Austin | To America | What is the voice I hear on the winds of the western sea? | Anonymous | To an Autumn Leaf | Wee shallop of shimmering gold! | Robert Louis Stevenson | To Any Reader | As from the house your mother sees you playing round the garden trees | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | To Auntie | Chief of our aunts—not only I, but all your dozen of nurselings cry— | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | John Keats | To Autumn | Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! | William Blake | To Autumn | O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained | Robert Herrick | To Daffodils | Fair daffodils, we weep to see you haste away so soon | Sara Teasdale | To Dick on His Sixth Birthday | Tho' I am very old and wise, | Ralph Waldo Emerson | To Ellen, At the South | The green grass is bowing | William Wordsworth | To H. C. Six Years Old |
O thou! whose fancies from afar are brought; | Anonymous | To Her Sea-Faring Lover | Shall I thus ever long, and be no whit the neare? | Michael Drayton | To His Coy Love | I pray thee, leave, love me no more | Sir Thomas Wyatt | To His Lute | My lute, awake! perform the last | Robert Herrick | To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child | Go, pretty child, and bear this flower unto thy little Saviour | Alfred Lord Tennyson | To J. S. | The wind, that beats the mountain, blows | Paul Laurence Dunbar | To Louise | Oh, the poets may sing of their Lady Irenes | Emily Dickinson | To March | Dear March, come in! | Robert Louis Stevenson | To Minnie | The red room with the giant bed where none but elders laid their head | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | John Skelton | To Mistress Margaret Hussey | Merry Margaret as midsummer flower, gentle as falcon | John Skelton | To Mistress Margery Wentworth | With margerain gentle, the flower of goodlihead | William Blake | To Morning | O holy virgin! clad in purest white, | Alice Cary | To Mother Fairie | Good old Mother Fairie, | Robert Louis Stevenson | To My Mother | You too, my mother, read my rhymes | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Robert Louis Stevenson | To My Name-Child | Some day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn with proper speed | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Sara Teasdale | To Rose | Rose, when I remember you, | Rachel Lyman Field | To See-Saw | I shall never see you run through the orchard any more | John Keats | To Some Ladies | What though while the wonders of nature exploring | William Blake | To Spring | O thou, with dewy locks, who lookest down | William Blake | To Summer | O thou, who passest thro' our vallies in | William Wordsworth | To the Cuckoo | O Blithe New-comer! I have heard, | William Wordsworth | To the Daisy | In youth from rock to rock I went, from hill to hill in discontent | William Wordsworth | To the Daisy | Bright Flower! whose home is everywhere, | William Blake | To the Evening Star | Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening, | William Cullen Bryant | To the Evening Wind | Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou that cool'st the twilight of the sultry day | William Cullen Bryant | To the Fringed Gentian | Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, | Caroline Bowles Southey | To the Ladybird | Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! | Alfred Noyes | To the Memory of Cecil Spring-Rice | Steadfast as any soldier of the line | Paul Laurence Dunbar | To the Memory of Mary Young | God has his plans, and what if we | William Blake | To the Muses | Whether on Ida's shady brow, or in the chambers of the East | William Wordsworth | To the Same Flower | With little here to do or see | William Wordsworth | To the Same Flower | Pleasures newly found are sweet | William Wordsworth | To the Small Celandine | Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, | Kate Greenaway | To the Sun Door | They saw it rise in the morning, they saw it set at night | William Wordsworth | To the Supreme Being | The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed | Robert Frost | To the Thawing Wind | Come with rain, O loud Southwester! | Michael Drayton | To the Virginian Voyage | You brave heroic minds worthy your country's name | William Blake | To Thomas Butts | To my friend Butts I write my first vision of light | Robert Herrick | To Violets | Welcome, maids of honor, you do bring | Robert Louis Stevenson | To Willie and Henrietta | If two may read aright these rhymes of old delight | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | William Blake | To Winter | O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors | Rachel Lyman Field | Toadstool Town | At the edge of the old fir wood | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Toadstools | A toadstool comes up in a night | Thomas Carlyle | Today | So here hath been dawning, another blue day | Walter de la Mare | Tom's Little Dog | Tom told his dog called Tim to beg | Rudyard Kipling | Tommy | I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer | William Brighty Rands | Topsy-Turvy World | If the butterfly courted the bee | Sydney Lanier | The Tournament | Bright shone the lists, blue bent the skies | Hilda Conkling | The Tower and the Falcon | There was a tower, once, in a London street. | Rachel Lyman Field | The Toy Shop | Oh, the pleasantest place is Toy Village | Albert von Chamisso | A Tragic Story | There lived a sage in days of yore | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Trailing Arbutus | I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made | Robert Louis Stevenson | Travel | I should like to rise and go where the golden apples grow | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Rachel Lyman Field | The Traveller | Dark are Lucinda's eyes | Hilda Conkling | Treasure | Robbers carry a treasure into a field of wheat. | Bjornstjerne Bjornson | The Tree | The Tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown; | Rachel Lyman Field | The Tree Toads | Down by the old swamp road | Anonymous | Tree Toads | A tree toad loved a she toad | Hilda Conkling | Tree-Toad | Tree-toad is a small gray person | Walter de la Mare | Trees | Of all the trees in England | Joyce Kilmer | Trees | I think that I shall never see | Sara Coleridge | Trees | The Oak is called the king of trees | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Trouble and Treasure | Crying, my little one, footsore and weary? | Stephen Hawes | The True Knight | For knighthood is not in the feats of warre | Nicholas Grimald | A True Love | What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see | Anonymous | True Love Requited; or, The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington | There was a youth, and a well-belov'd youth | Rudyard Kipling | True Royalty | There was never a Queen like Balkis | John Greenleaf Whittier | Trust | The same old baffling questions! O my friend | William Hickson | Try Again | 'Tis a lesson you should heed | Charles Mackay | Tubal Cain | Old Tubal Cain was a man of might, | Robert Frost | The Tuft of Flowers | I went to turn the grass once after one | Anonymous | Tumbling | In jumping and tumbling we spend the whole day | Anonymous | Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee | Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee resolved to have a battle | Bible | The Twenty-Third Psalm | The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want | Sara Teasdale | Twilight | Dreamily over the roofs | Madison Cawein | The Twilight | In her wimple of wind and her slippers of sleep | Jane Taylor | Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star | Twinkle, twinkle, little star; how I wonder what you are! | Jane Taylor | Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star | Twinkle, twinkle, little star; how I wonder what you are! | A. A. Milne | Twinkletoes | When the sun shines through the leaves of the apple-tree | Anonymous | Twinkling Bugs | When the sun sinks under the world's red rim, | Robert Browning | Two in the Campagna | I wonder do you feel to-day | Anonymous | Two Little Kittens | Two little kittens, one stormy night; | Hilda Conkling | Two Pictures—Gorgeous Blue Mountain | I see a great mountain stand among clouds; | Hilda Conkling | Two Songs | The birds came to tell Siegfried a story | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Two Songs | A bee that was searching for sweets one day | William Blake | From The Two Songs | I heard an Angel Singing when the day was springing | John Keats | Two Sonnets on Fame: First Sonnet | Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy | John Keats | Two Sonnets on Fame: Second Sonnet | How fever'd is the man, who cannot look | Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Two Voices | A still small voice spake unto me | Alfred Noyes | The Two Worlds | This outer world is but the pictured scroll | Rudyard Kipling | The Two-Sided Man | Much I owe to the Lands that grew— | William Blake | The Tyger | Tyger, tyger, burning bright | Joshua Sylvester | Ubique | Were I as base as is the lowly plain | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Ulysses | It little profits that an idle king | Samuel Daniel | Ulysses and the Siren | Come, worthy Greek! Ulysses, come | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Umbrellas | When fishes set umbrellas up | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Unbroken Song | I heard the bells on Christmas Day their old, familiar carols play | William Shakespeare | Under the Greenwood Tree | Under the greenwood tree who loves to lie with me | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Under the Ivy Bush | Under the ivy bush one sits sighing | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Unexpressed | Deep in my heart that aches with the repression | Alfred Noyes | The Union | You that have gathered together the sons of all races | Walter de la Mare | The Universe | I heard a little child beneath the stars | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Unseen Playmate | When children are playing alone on the green | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Walter de la Mare | Unstooping | Low on his fours the Lion treads with the surly Bear | Walter de la Mare | Up and Down | Down the Hill of Ludgate. Up the Hill of Fleet, | George MacDonald | Up and Down | The sun is gone down, and the moon's in the sky | Anonymous | Up in the Morning Early | Pretty flowers, tell me why all your leaves do open wide, | William Cullen Bryant | Upon the Mountain's Distant Head | Upon the mountain's distant head, with trackless snows forever white | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Uriel | It fell in the ancient periods which the brooding soul surveys | Mary Howitt | The Use of Flowers | God might have bade the Earth bring forth | Bliss Carman | A Vagabond Song | There is something in the Autumn that is native to my blood | Laura E. Richards | A Valentine | Oh! little loveliest lady mine | Robert Frost | The Vantage Point | If tired of trees I seek again mankind | Rachel Lyman Field | Vegetables | A carrot has a green fringed top | Elinor Wylie | Velvet Shoes | Let us walk in the white snow | Hilda Conkling | Velvets | This pansy has a thinking face | Rachel Lyman Field | Venetian Beads | My string of blue Venetian beads on Sundays I may wear | Hilda Conkling | Venice Bridge | Away back in an old city I saw a bridge. | Anonymous | Verse | Now rings the woodland loud and long, | Anonymous | Verse | I find earth not gray, but rosy, | Robert Browning | Verse | Such a starved bank of moss, till, that May morn, | George MacDonald | A Verse | The lightning and thunder, they go and they come | Bible | Verses from The Song of Solomon | For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; | Bible | Verses from Saint Luke | And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. | Queenie Scott-Hopper | Very Nearly | I never quite saw fairy-folk a-dancing in the glade | A. A. Milne | Vespers | Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed | Alfred Noyes | Veterans | When the last charge sounds and the battle thunders o'er the plain | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Capri | When beauty grows too great to bear | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Florence | The bells ring over the Arno | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Hamburg | The day that I come home, what will you find to say | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Naples | Nisida and Prosida are laughing in the light | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Night Song at Amalfi | I asked the heaven of stars | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Off Algiers | Oh give me neither love nor tears | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Off Gibraltar | Beyond the sleepy hills of Spain | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Rome | Oh for the rising moon over the roofs of Rome | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Ruins of Paestum | On lowlands where the temples lie | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Stresa | The moon grows out of the hills | Sara Teasdale | Vignettes Overseas: Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio | The fountain shivers lightly in the rain | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Village Blacksmith | Under a spreading chestnut-tree | Jane Taylor | The Violet | Down in a green and shady bed | Lucy Larcom | The Violet | Dear little violet, don't be afraid! | William Shakespeare | A Violet Bank | I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, | John Moultrie | Violets | Under the green hedges after the snow, | Dinah Maria Mulock | Violets | Violets, violets, sweet March violets, | George Herbert | Virtue | Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, the bridal of the earth and sky! | Clement Clarke Moore | A Visit from St. Nicholas | 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house | Rachel Lyman Field | The Visitor | Feather-footed and swift as a mouse | Beatrix Potter | A Visitor | Now who is this knocking at Cottontail's door? | Sir Thomas Wyatt | Vixi Puellis Nuper Idoneus | They flee from me that sometime did me seek | Felicia Dorothea Hemans | The Voice of Spring | I come, I come! ye have called me long | Mary Howitt | The Voice of Spring | I am coming, I am coming! Hark! the little bee is humming; | Sarah Roberts Boyle | The Voice of the Grass | Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere | Walter de la Mare | Voices | Who is it calling by the darkened river | Sir Philip Sidney | Voices at the Window | Who is it that, this dark night underneath my window plaineth? | John Lydgate | Vox Ultima Crucis | Tarye no lenger; toward thyn heritage | Hilaire Belloc | The Vulture | The Vulture eats between his meals | Robert Frost | Waiting | What things for dream there are when spectre-like | John Burroughs | Waiting | Serene I fold my hands and wait, | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Waiting | I wait and watch: before my eyes | Margaret Deland | The Waits | At the break of Christmas Day, through the frosty starlight ringing | Anonymous | The Wakening | On a time the amorous Silvy said to her shepherd, "Sweet, how do ye? | Lewis Carroll | The Walrus and the Carpenter | The sun was shining on the sea, | Anonymous | Walsinghame | As ye came from the holy land | Walter de la Mare | Wanderers | Wide are the meadows of night | Lord Byron | The Watch on the Rhine | A peal like thunder calls the brave | Max Schneckenburger | The Watch on the Rhine | A voice resounds like thunder peal, 'mid dashing waves and clang of steel | Anonymous | The Watchman's Song | Listen, children, hear me tell, ten now tolls from the old church bell. | Hilda Conkling | Water | The world turns softly not to spill its lakes and rivers. | William Motherwell | The Water! The Water! | The Water! the Water! the joyous brook for me | A. A. Milne | Water-Lilies | Where the water-lilies go to and fro | Frank Dempster Sherman | The Waterfall | Tinkle, tinkle! Listen well! Like a fairy silver bell | Rudyard Kipling | The Way Through the Woods | They shut the road through the woods | Caroline Norton | We Have Been Friends Together | We have been friends together, in sunshine and in shade | Anonymous | We Thank Thee | For flowers that bloom about our feet | Paul Laurence Dunbar | We Wear the Mask | We wear the mask that grins and lies | Anonymous | Weather | Whether the weather be fine | Hilda Conkling | Weather | Weather is the answer when I can't go out into flowery places | Anonymous | The Weather | If the evening's red, and the morning gray, | Robert Tennant | Wee Davie Daylicht | Wee Davie Daylicht keeks ower the sea | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Wee Wee Husband | Wee wee husband, give me some money | Anonymous | Wee Willie Winkie | Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Weeds | White with daisies and red with sorrel | Robert Southey | The Well of St. Keyne | A well there is in the west country | Allan Cunningham | A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea | A wet sheet and a flowing sea, a wind that follows fast | Anonymous | The Whale | It was in the year of ninety-four, in March the twentieth day | Christina Georgina Rossetti | What Can I Give Him? | What can I give Him? Poor as I am? | Henry Abbey | What Do We Plant? | What do we plant when we plant the tree? We plant the ship, which will cross the sea | Christina Georgina Rossetti | What Does the Bee Do? | What does the bee do? Bring home honey. | Christina Georgina Rossetti | What Does the Donkey Bray About? | What does the donkey bray about? What does the pig grunt through his snout? | Anonymous | What Every One Knows | Cocks crow in the morn to tell us to rise, | Emily Dickinson | What I Can Do | What I can do—I will— | Wilhelmina Seegmuller | What I Like | I like to ride on a load of hay, to tramp in puddles on a rainy day | "B" | What May Happen to a Thimble | Come about the meadow, hunt here and there | Anonymous | What the Burdock Was Good For | "Good for nothing," the farmer said, as he made a sweep at the burdock's head | Edmund Clarence Stedman | What the Winds Bring | Which is the Wind that brings the cold? | George MacDonald | What Would You See? | What would you see if I took you up to my little nest in the air? | Rachel Lyman Field | What? No More Witches in New York? | What? No more witches in New York—when every night the sky | Christina Georgina Rossetti | When a Mounting Skylark Sings | When a mounting skylark sings in the sunlit summer morn | Joseph Addison | When All Thy Mercies | When all Thy mercies, O my God! | Paul Laurence Dunbar | When de Co'n Pone's Hot | Dey is times in life when Nature seems to slip a cog an' go | James Whitcomb Riley | When Early March Seems Middle May | When country roads begin to thaw | E. V. Wright | When Father Carves the Duck | We all look on with anxious eyes | Anonymous | When Flora Had O'erfret the Firth | Quhen Flora had o'erfret the firth in May of every moneth queen | William Wordsworth | When I Have Borne in Memory | When I have borne in memory what has tamed | John Keats | When I Have Fears | When I have fears that I may cease to be | Walt Whitman | When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer | When I heard the learn'd astronomer, when the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me | Anonymous | When I Was a Little Boy | When I was a little boy, I lived by myself | Paul Laurence Dunbar | When Malindy Sings | G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy | Agnes Mitchell | When the Cows Come Home | With klingle, klangle, klingle | Christina Georgina Rossetti | When the Cows Come Home | When the cows come home the milk is coming | James Whitcomb Riley | When the Frost Is on the Punkin | When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, | Algernon Charles Swinburne | When the Hounds of Spring | When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, | Percy Bysshe Shelley | When the Lamp Is Shattered | When the lamp is shattered the light in the dust lies dead | Charles D. G. Roberts | When the Sleepy Man Comes | When the sleepy man comes with the dust on his eyes, | Rachel Lyman Field | When We Went Gathering Cat-Tails | When we went gathering cat-tails—Roger and Tip and I | Rachel Lyman Field | When You Played | Over the black keys and the white | Robert Louis Stevenson | Where Go the Boats? | Dark brown is the river, golden is the sand | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | William Wordsworth | Where Lies the Land | Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? | Arthur Hugh Clough | Where Lies the Land? | Where lies the land to which the ship would go? | Rachel Lyman Field | Where? | When winter nights are cold and black, and the wind walks by | Charles Lamb | Which Is the Favourite? | Brothers and sisters I have many | Nahum Tate | While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night | While shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground, | Emilie Poulsson | While Stars of Christmas Shine | While stars of Christmas shine, lighting the skies, | Edmund Spenser | Whilst It Is Prime | Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king | Anonymous | Whisky Frisky | Whisky frisky, hippity hop, | Rachel Lyman Field | Whistles | I never even hear the boats that pass by day | Rachel Lyman Field | White Birches | Over the meadows the birchtrees gay | Algernon Charles Swinburne | White Butterflies | Fly, white butterflies, out to sea | Hilda Conkling | The White Cloud | There are many clouds but not like the one I see | James Stephens | White Fields | In the winter time we go | Hamish Hendry | White Horses | I saw them plunging through the foam | Anonymous | White Sheep | White sheep, white sheep, on a blue hill | William Cullen Bryant | The White-Footed Deer | It was a hundred years ago, when, by the woodland ways | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Whittier | Not o'er thy dust let there be spent | Emily Dickinson | Who Has Not Found the Heaven Below | Who has not found the heaven below, will fail of it above. | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Who Has Seen the Wind? | Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you | Clara Doty Bates | Who Likes the Rain? | "I," said the duck, "I call it fun, for I have my little red rubbers on; | Anonymous | Who Loves the Trees Best? | Who loves trees best? "I," said the spring | Anonymous | Who Stole the Bird's Nest | "Tu-whit! Tu-whit! Tu-whee! Will you listen to me? | Lydia Maria Child | Who Stole the Bird's Nest? | "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee! Will you listen to me? | Robert Louis Stevenson | Whole Duty of Children | A child should always say what's true | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Laura E. Richards | Why Does It Snow? | "Why does it snow? Why does it snow? | Paul Laurence Dunbar | Why Fades a Dream? | Why fades a dream? An iridescent ray | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Why? | Why did baby die, making Father sigh | Walter de la Mare | A Widow's Weeds | A poor old Widow in her weeds sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds | Evaleen Stein | Wild Beasts | I will be a lion and you shall be a bear | William Blake | The Wild Flower's Song | As I wanderd the forest, the green leaves among | Celia Thaxter | Wild Geese | The wind blows, the sun shines, the birds sing loud, | Mary F. Butts | Wild Winds | Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow! | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Will | O well for him whose will is strong! | Walter de la Mare | Will Ever? | Will he ever be weary of wandering, the flaming sun? | Kate Greenaway | Will You Be My Little Wife? | Will you be my little wife if I ask you? Do! | Hilda Conkling | Will You Love Me? | Will you love me to-morrow after next? | William Miller | Willie Winkie | Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town | Juliana Horatia Ewing | The Willow Man | There once was a Willow, and he was very old | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Wind | The wind has such a rainy sound | Rachel Lyman Field | The Wind | Be very polite to the Wind, my child | Robert Louis Stevenson | The Wind | I saw you toss the kites on high | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Letitia Elizabeth Landon | The Wind | The wind has a language, I would I could learn; | George MacDonald | The Wind and the Moon | Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out, | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Wind and the Sea | I stood by the shore at the death of day | William Howitt | The Wind in a Frolic | The wind one morning sprung up from sleep | Emily Dickinson | The Wind's Visit | The wind tapped like a tired man, | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Wind-Flowers | Twist me a crown of wind-flowers | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Windmill | Behold! a giant am I! Aloft here in my tower | Walter de la Mare | The Window | Behind the blinds I sit and watch | Thomas Buchanan Read | The Windy Night | Alow and aloof, over the roof, | Robert Louis Stevenson | Windy Nights | Whenever the moon and stars are set | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | William Shakespeare | Winter | When icicles hang by the wall, | Philip H Savage | Winter | When February sun shines cold, | Alfred Lord Tennyson | Winter | The frost is here, and fuel is dear, | John Greenleaf Whittier | Winter | The sun that brief December day rose cheerless over hills of gray | Sara Teasdale | A Winter Blue Jay | Crisply the bright snow whispered, | Sara Teasdale | A Winter Night | My window-pane is starred with frost, | Mary F. Butts | Winter Night | Blow, wind, blow! | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Winter Rain | Every valley drinks, every dell and hollow; | Thomas Bailey Aldrich | The Winter Robin | Now is that sad time of year | William Shakespeare | From The Winter's Tale | Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, | Robert Louis Stevenson | Winter-Time | Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, a frosty, fiery sleepy-head | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Alice Cary | The Wise Fairy | Once, in a rough, wild country, on the other side of the sea | S. Rogers | A Wish | Mine be a cot beside the hill; | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Wish of To-day | I ask not now for gold to gild | Sara Teasdale | Wishes | I wish for such a lot of things | William Allingham | Wishing | Ring ting! I wish I were a Primrose | Rachel Lyman Field | Wishing | I stepped into a fairy ring | Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Wishing | Do you wish the world were better? | Frank Dempster Sherman | Wizard Frost | Wondrous things have come to pass | George Cooper | The Wonderful Weaver | There's a wonderful weaver high up in the air | William Brighty Rands | The Wonderful World | Great, wide, wonderful, beautiful world, | Rachel Lyman Field | Wood-Strawberries | I went to the wood where the strawberries grow | George Pope Morris | Woodman, Spare That Tree! | Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! | Ralph Waldo Emerson | Woodnotes | 'Twas one of the charméd days | Emily Dickinson | The Woodpecker | His bill an auger is, | Robert Frost | The Woodpile | Out walking in the frozen swamp one grey day | Rachel Lyman Field | Woods | Whenever the woods I walk among | Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Wooing | A youth went faring up and down | Emily Dickinson | A Word | A word is dead, when it is said, | Alice Cary | Work | Down and up, and up and down, over and over and over | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Work Without Hope | All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair | William Wordsworth | The World Is Too Much with Us | The world is too much with us; late and soon | William Stanley Braithwaite | The World of Wonder | Heart free, hand free, Blue above, brown under, | Gabriel Setoun | The World's Music | The world's a very happy place | Walt Whitman | The Wound-Dresser | An old man bending I come among new faces | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Wreck of the Hesperus | It was the schooner Hesperus, that sailed the wintry sea; | William Wordsworth | A Wren's Nest | Among the dwellings framed by birds in field or forest with nice care | Christina Georgina Rossetti | Wrens and Robbins | Wrens and robins in the hedge | Hilda Conkling | Wrinkling | Oh wrinkling star, wrinkling up so wise | William Wordsworth | Written in March | The cock is crowing, the stream is flowing, | William Wordsworth | Written in Very Early Youth | Calm is all nature as a resting wheel. | William Wordsworth | Written While Sailing in a Boat at Evening | How richly glows the water's breast | A. A. Milne | The Wrong House | I went into a house, and it wasn't a house | Eugene Field | Wynken, Blynken, and Nod | Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night sailed off in a wooden shoe | Hilaire Belloc | The Yak | As a friend to the children commend me the Yak | John Greenleaf Whittier | The Yankee Girl | She sings by her wheel at that low cottage-door | Thomas Campbell | Ye Mariners of England | Ye mariners of England, that guard our native seas, | Christina Georgina Rossetti | The Year | January cold desolate. February all dripping wet; | Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Year's Windfalls | On the wind of January, down flits the snow, | Hilda Conkling | Yellow Summer-Throat | Yellow summer-throat sat singing in a bending spray of willow tree. | William Cullen Bryant | The Yellow Violet | When beechen buds begin to swell | Edward Lear | The Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo | On the Coast of Coromandel | Alfred Lord Tennyson | You Ask Me Why | You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, within this region I subsist | Ella Wheeler Wilcox | You Never Can Tell | You never can tell when you send a word | Dinah Maria Mulock | Young Dandelion | Young Dandelion on a hedge-side | Edward Lear | A Young Lady of Norway | There was a Young Lady of Norway | Robert Louis Stevenson | Young Night-Thought | All night long and every night, when my mama puts out the light | illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith | Edward Lear | A Young Person in Green | There was a young person in green | Robert Browning | Youth and Art | It once might have been, once only | Matthew Arnold | Youth and Calm | 'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here |
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