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Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee

One more Unfortunate

One word is too often profaned

On Linden, when the sun was low

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd'

Over the mountains

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day

Phoebus, arise

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth'
Proud Maisie is in the wood

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair

Rough Wind, that moanest loud

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King

Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness

See with what simplicity

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day

Shall I, wasting in despair

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Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

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Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part

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Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me

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Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile

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Sleep, sleep, beauty bright

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Souls of Poets dead and gone

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king

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Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory

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Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind

That time of year thou may'st in me behold'

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There is a garden in her face

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There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away 302

There's not a nook within this solemn Pass

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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream

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The sea hath many thousand sands

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The sun is warm, the sky is clear

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The sun upon the lake is low

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The twentieth year is well-nigh past

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The world is too much with us; late and soon

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They are all gone into the world of light

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Though others may her brow adore

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Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee

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We walk'd along, while bright and red

We watch'd her breathing thro' the night
Whenas in silks my Julia goes

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When he who adores thee has left but the name

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When icicles hang by the wall

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When I consider how my light is spent

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When I have borne in memory what has tamed
When I have fears that I may cease to be

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They that have power to hurt, and will do none

This is the month, and this the happy morn
This Life, which seems so fair

Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness
Three years she grew in sun and shower
Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream
Timely blossom, Infant fair

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry

Toll for the Brave

To me, fair Friend, you never can be old
To one who has been long in city pent
Turn back, you wanton flyer

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won

'Twas on a lofty vase's side

Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea

Under the greenwood tree

Upon my lap my sovereign sits

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When I think on the happy days

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced

When I survey the bright

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

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When the lamp is shatter'd

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame

When thou must home to shades of underground

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

When we two parted

Where art thou, my beloved Son

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Where shall the lover rest

Where the bee sucks, there suck I

Where the remote Bermudas ride

Whether on Ida's shady brow

While that the sun with his beams hot

Whoe'er she be

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Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant

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Why so pale and wan, fond lover

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Why weep ye by the tide, ladie

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With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies

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Yet once more, ye laurels, and once more
You meaner beauties of the night

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