When cats run home and light is come, 9.
When from the terrors of Nature a people have

fashion'd and worship a Spirit of Evil, 863.
When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free, 9.
When the dumb Hour, clothed in black, 868.
When will the stream be aweary of flowing, 2.
Where Claribel low-lieth, 2.

Where is one that, born of woman, altogether can
escape, 855.

While about the shore of Mona those Neronian
legionaries, 235.

While man and woman still are incomplete, 812
'Whither, O whither, love, shall we go,' 231.
Who would be, 18.

Who would be, 19.

Why wail you, pretty plover? and what is it that
you fear? 798.

Will my tiny spark of being wholly vanish in
your deeps and heights? 868.

With a half-glance upon the sky, 13.
With blackest moss the flower-plots, 7.
With farmer Allan at the farm abode, 75-
With one black shadow at its feet, 29.

1015

If these brief lays, of Sorrow born, xlviii.
I hear the noise about thy keel, x.
I held it truth, with him who sings, i.

I know that this was Life- the track, xxv.
I leave thy praises unexpress'd, lxxv.
In those sad words I took farewell, lviii.
I past beside the reverend walls, lxxxvii.

I shall not see thee. Dare I say, xciii.
Is it, then, regret for buried time, cxvi.
I sing to him that rests below, xxi.
I sometimes hold it half a sin, v.
It is the day when he was born, cvii.
I trust I have not wasted breath, cxx.
I vex my heart with fancies dim, xlii.
I wage not any feud with Death, lxxxii.
I will not shut me from my kind, cviii.

Lo, as a dove when up she springs, vii.
Love is and was my Lord and King, cxxvi.

'MORE than my brothers are to me,' lxxix.
My love has talk'd with rocks and trees, xcvii.
My own dim life should teach me this, xxxiv.

Now fades the last long streak of snow, cxv.
Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut, xxiii.

O DAYS and hours, your work is this, cxvii.
Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then, cxxii.
Oh yet we trust that somehow good, liv.
Old warder of these buried bones, xxxix.
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones, ii.
O living will that shalt endure, cxxxi.
One writes, that 'Other friends remain,' vi.
On that last night before we went, ciii.

O Sorrow, cruel fellowship, iii.

O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me, lix.

O thou that after toil and storm, xxxiii.

PEACE; come away: the song of woe, lvii.

RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, cvi.
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, lxxii.

Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, xcix.

SAD Hesper o'er the buried sun, cxxi.
Sleep, kinsman thou to death and trance, !xxi.
'So careful of the type?' but no, lvi.
So many worlds, so much to do, lxxiii.
Still onward winds the dreary way, xxvi.
Sweet after showers, ambrosial air, lxxxvi.
Sweet soul, do with me as thou wilt, lxv.

TAKE wings of fancy, and ascend, lxxvi.
Tears of the widower, when he sees, xiii.
That each, who seems a separate whole, xlvii.
That which we dare invoke to bless, cxxiv.
The baby new to earth and sky, xlv.
The churl in spirit, up or down, cxi.
The Danube to the Severn gave, xix.
The lesser griefs that may be said, xx.
The love that rose on stronger wings, cxxviii.
The path by which we twain did go, xxii.
There rolls the deep where grew the tree, cxxiii.
The time draws near the birth of Christ, xxviii.
The time draws near the birth of Christ, civ.
The wish, that of the living whole, lv.
This truth came borne with bier and pall, lxxxv.
Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze,
xvii.

Tho' if an eye that's downward cast, lxii.
Tho' truths in manhood darkly join, xxxvi.
Thy converse drew us with delight, cx.
Thy spirit ere our fatal loss, xli.
Thy voice is on the rolling air, cxxx.

'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise, cxiii.

'Tis well; 'tis something; we may stand, xväi
To-night the winds begin to rise, xv.
To-night ungather'd let us leave, cv.
To Sleep I give my powers away, iv.

UNWATCH'D, the garden bough shall sway, ci.
Urania speaks with darken'd brow, xxxvii.

WE leave the well-beloved place, cii.
We ranging down this lower track, xlvi.
Whatever I have said or sung, cxxv.
What hope is here for modern rhyme, lxxvii.
What words are these have fall'n from me? xvi
When I contemplate all alone, lxxxiv.
When in the down I sink my head, lxviii.
When Lazarus left his charnel-cave, xxxi.
When on my bed the moonlight falls, lxvii.
When rosy plumelets tuft the larch, xei.
Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail,
cxiv.

Wild birds, whose warble, liquid sweet, lxxxviii.
Witch-elms that counterchange the floor, lxxxix
With such compelling cause to grieve, xxix.
With trembling fingers did we weave, xxx.
With weary steps I loiter on, xxxviii.

YET if some voice that man could trust, xxxv.
Yet pity for a horse o'er-driven, lxiii.
You leave us you will see the Rhine, xcviii.
You say, but with no touch of scorn, xcvi.
You thought my heart too far diseased, lxvi.