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Scott, Walter (1771-1832), cv, CLXX, CLXXXII, CLXXXVI, CXCII,
CXCIV, CXCVI, CCIV, CCXXX, CCXXXIV, CCXXXVI, CCXXXIX, CCLXIII
Sedley, Charles (1639-1701), LxxxI, XCVIII
SEWELL, George -- 1726), CLXIII
SHAKESPEARE, William (1564 – 1616), ni, IV, VI, VII, VIII, X, XI,
XII, XIII, XIV, XVIII, XIX, XX, XXIII, XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX,
XXX, XXXi, XXXII, XXXVI, XXXIX, XLII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI,
XLVIII, XLIX, L, LVI, LX
Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1795 – 1822), CLXXII, CLXXVI, CLXXXIV,
CLXXXVIII, CXCV, CCIII, CCXXVI, CCXXVII, CCXLI, CCXLVI, CCLII,
CCLIX, CCLX, CCLXIV, CCLXv, CCLXVIII, CCLXXI, CCLXXIV,
CCLXXV, CCLXXVII, CCLXXXV, CCLXXXVIII
Shirley, James (1596- 1666), LXVIII, LXIX
SIDNEY, Philip (1554 - 1586), xxiv
Souther, Robert (1774 - 1843', ccxvi, CCXXVIII
SPENSER, Edmund (1553-1598-9), LIII
SUCKLING, John (1608-9-1641), ci
SYLVESTER, Joshua (1563 – 1618), XXV
THOMSON, James (1700-1748), cxxII, CXXXVI
VAUGHAN, Henry (1621 – 1695), LXXV
VERE, Edward (1534 – 1604), XLI
Waller, Edmund (1605 – 1687), LxxxIX, XCV
WEBSTER, John (-1638 ?), XLVII
Wither, George (1588 – 1667), cui
WOLFE, Charles (1791 – 1823), ccXVIII
WORDSWORTH, William (1770-1850), CLXXIV, CLXXVII, CLXXVIII,
CLXXIX, CLXXX, CLXXXIX, CC, CCVIII, ccx, CCXI, CCXII, CCXIII,
CCXIV, ccxix, CCXXIII, CCXXXVIII, CCXL, CCXLII, CCXLIII,
CCXLV, CCXLVII, CCXLVIII, CCXLIX, CCL, CCLI, CCLIII, CCLIV,
CCLVII, CCLVIII, CCLXI, CCLXVI, CCLXIX, CCLXXII, CCLXXIII,
CCLXXVI, CCLXXVIII, cclxxix, CCLXXXI, CCLXXXII, CCLXXXVI,
WOTTON, Henry (1568 - 1639, 1.XXII, LXXXIV
WYAT, Thomas (1503-1542), XXI, XXXIII
UNKNOWN : IX, XVII, XL, LXXX, LXXXVI, XCI, XCIV, XCVII, CVI,
CVII, CVIII, CXXVIII
Absence, hear thou my protestation.
A Chieftain to the Highlands bound
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by.
Ah, Chloris I could I now but sit
Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh .
All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd
All thoughts, all passions, all delights
And are ye sure the news is true .
And this -- Yarrow ? - This the Stream
And thou art dead, as young and fair
And wilt thou leave me thus
Ariel to Miranda :- Take .
Art thou pale for weariness.
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers
As it fell upon a day .
As I was walking all alane .
A slumber did my spirit seal
As slow our ship her foamy track
A sweet disorder in the dress
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly.
Avenge, O Lord ! thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones
Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake
Awake, awake, my Lyre
A weary lot is thine, fair maid
A wet sheet and a flowing sea
A widow bird sate mourning for her Love
Bards of Passion and of Mirth
Beauty sat bathing by a spring
Behold her, single in the field.
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed.
Best and Brightest, come away
Bid me to live, and I will live.
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy
Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren.
Calm was the day, and through the trembling air
Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in arms
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night .
Come away, come away, Death
Come live with me and be my Love
Crabbed Age and Youth
Cupid and my Campaspe play'd .
Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench
Daughter of Jove, relentless power.
Daughter to that good earl, once President
Degenerate Douglas ! O the unworthy lord .
Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly
Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move
Down in yon garden sweet and gay
Drink to me only with thine eyes
Duncan Gray cam here to woo
Earl March look'd on his dying child
Earth has not anything to show inore fair
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind
Ethereal Minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky
Ever let the Fancy roam
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree.
Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing
Fear no more the heat o' the sun.
For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
Forget not yet the tried intent
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year
From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit
Happy the man, whose wish and care
Happy those early days, when I .
He that loves a rosy cheek.
He is gone on the mountain
Hence, all you vain delights
Hence, loathed Melancholy
Hence, vain deluding Joys
How delicious is the winning .
How happy is he born and taught
How like a winter hath my absence been.
How sleep the Brave who sink to rest .
How sweet the answer Echo makes
How vainly men themselves amaze .
I am monarch of all I survey
I arise from dreams of Thee
I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way.
If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song
If doughty deeds my lady please
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden
If Thou survive my well-contented day
If to be absent were to be
If women could be fair, and yet not fond .
I have had playmates, I have had companions
I heard a thousand blended notes
I met a traveller from an antique land
I'm wearing awa', Jean.
In a drear-nighted December
In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining .
In the sweet shire of Cardigan
I remember, I remember
I saw where in the shroud did lurk
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free
It is not Beauty I demand .
It is not growing like a tree
I travell’d among unknown mea
It was a lover and his lass.
It was a summer evening
I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking
I wander'd lonely as a cloud
I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile
I wish I were where Helen lies
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Life! I know not what thou art .
Life of Life ! Thy lips enkindle .
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
Like to the clear in highest sphere
Love not me for comely grace
Lo! where the rosy-bosom’d Hours
Many a green isle needs must be
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings
Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour
Mine be a cot beside the hill
Mortality, behold and fear .
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold .
Music, when soft voices die
My days among the Dead are past
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains.
My heart leaps up when I behold
My Love in her attire doth ew her wit
My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
My thoughts hold mortal strife
My true love hath my heart, and I have his .
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
Not, Celia, that I juster am
Now the golden Morn aloft
Now the last day of many days