Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

Index to First Lines

A baby’s feet, like sea-shells pink

A being cleaves the moonlit air

Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide

A blood-red ring hung round the moon

A boat, beneath a sunny sky

About Glenkindie and his man

Above yon sombre swell of land

Across the fields like swallows fly

Across the sea a land there is

A cypress-bough, and a rose-wreath sweet

Afar the hunt in vales below has sped

A floating, a floating

A golden gillyflower to-day

A good sword and a trusty hand!

A happy day at Whitsuntide

Ah, be not vain. In yon flower-bell

Ah, bring it not so grudgingly

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain

Ah! I ’m feared thou’s come too sooin

Ah! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar

Ah! long ago since I or thou

Ah, love, the teacher we decried

Ah! not because our Soldier died before his field was won

A ho! A ho!

Ahoy! and O-ho! and it ’s who ’s for the ferry?

Ah, sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from that wheel

Ah! thou, too

Ah what avails the sceptred race

A lane of elms in June;—the air

Alas, how soon the hours are over

Alas, that my heart is a lute

Alas, the moon should ever beam

Alas! who knows or cares, my love

A line of light! it is the inland sea

A little fair soul that knew no sin

A little gray hill-glade, close-turfed, withdrawn

A little love, of Heaven a little share

A little while a little love

A little while my love and I

All beautiful things bring sadness, nor alone

All in the April evening

All June I bound the rose in sheaves

All my stars forsake me

All night I watched awake for morning

All other joys of life he strove to warm

All the storm has rolled away

All the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod

All things are changed save thee,—thou art the same

All things journey: sun and moon

All things that pass

Alone I stay; for I am lame

A lonely way, and as I went my eyes

Although I enter not

A maid who mindful of her playful time

Ambitious Nile, thy banks deplore

Am I the slave they say

A moth belated, sun and zephyrkist

And even our women, lastly grumbles Ben

And is the swallow gone?

And thus all-expectant abiding I waited not long for soon

And truth, you say, is all divine

And we might trust these youths and maidens fair

And you, ye stars

Anear the centre of that northern crest

Another night, and yet no tidings come

A pale and soul-sick woman with wan eyes

A pensive photograph

A place in thy memory, Dearest!

A poet of one mood in all my lays

A poor old king with sorrow for my crown

Are you ready for your steeplechase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe?

Are you tir’d?

Arise, my slumbering soul! arise

A roundel is wrought as a ring or a sphere

Artemidora! Gods invisible

Art’s use; what is it but to touch the springs

A seat for three, where host and guest

As fly the shadows o’er the grass

A shoal of idlers, from a merchant craft

As I came round the harbor buoy

As I came wandering down Glen Spean

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea

As one dark morn I trod a forest glade

As one that for a weary space has lain

As one who strives from some fast steamer’s side

As one would stand who saw a sudden light

As on my bed at dawn I mus’d and pray’d

A Sonnet is a moment’s monument

A spade! a rake! a hoe!

As ships, becalm’d at eve, that lay

As thro’ the land at eve we went

A street there is in Paris famous

As yonder lamp in my vacated room

At a pot-house bar as I chanced to pass

At dinner she is hostess, I am host

A thousand miles from land are we

At husking time the tassel fades

Athwart the sky a lowly sigh

At Nebra, by the Unstrut

At night when sick folk wakeful lie

At Paris it was, at the Opera there

At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time

Awake, my heart, to be lov’d, awake, awake!

Awake!—the crimson dawn is glowing

Awake thee, my Lady-love!

Away, haunt thou not me

Aw’d by her own rash words she was still

A widow,—she had only one!

Ay, an old story, yet it might

Aye, squire, said Stevens, they back him at evens

Back to the flower-town, side by side

Barb’d blossom of the guarded gorse

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!

Beautiful face of a child

Beautiful spoils! borne off from vanquish’d death!

Beauty still walketh on the earth and air

Because the shadows deepen’d verily

Before I trust my fate to thee

Before us in the sultry dawn arose

Beloved, it is morn!

Below lies one whose name was traced in sand

Be mine, and I will give thy name

Beneath a palm-tree by a clear cool spring

Beneath the sand-storm John the Pilgrim prays

Beneath the shadow of dawn’s aerial cope

Beneath this starry arch

Be not afraid to pray—to pray is right

Be patient, O be patient! Put your ear against the earth

Beside the pounding cataracts

Better trust all and be deceiv’d

Between the roadside and the wood

Between the showers I went my way

Between two golden tufts of summer grass

Beyond a hundred years and more

Beyond the smiling and the weeping

Beyond the vague Atlantic deep

Birds that were gray in the green are black in the yellow

Bless the dear old verdant land!

Blithe playmate of the Summer time

Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying

Blow, wind, blow

Blythe bell, that calls to bridal halls

Bonnie Bessie Lee had a face fu’ o’ smiles

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Borgia, thou once wert almost too august

Both thou and I alike, my Bacchic urn

Brave as a falcon and as merciless

Break, break, break

Breath o’ the grass

Brief is Erinna’s song, her lowly lay

Bright Eyes, Light Eyes! Daughter of a Fay!

Bring me my dead!

Bring no jarring lute this way

Bring snow-white lilies, pallid heart-flushed roses

Brother, thou art gone before us

Brown eyes

Build high your white and dazzling palaces

Bury the Great Duke

But now the sun had pass’d the height of Heaven

But yesterday she played with childish things

Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, my golden-belted bees

By a dim shore where water darkening

By copse and hedgerow, waste and wall

Charles,—for it seems you wish to know

Cheeks as soft as July peaches

Chicken-skin, delicate, white

Child of a day, thou knowest not

Children indeed are we—children that wait

Christmas is here

City about whose brow the north winds blow

Colonos! can it be that thou hast still

Come and kiss me, mistress Beauty

Come, dear children, let us away

Come from busy haunts of men

Come here, good people great and small, that wander far abroad

Come hither, Evan Cameron!

Come in the evening, or come in the morning

Come! in this cool retreat

Come into the garden, Maud

Come Micky and Molly and dainty Dolly

Come, Sleep! but mind ye! if you come without

Comes something down with eventide

Come, stand we here within this cactus-brake

Comes the lure of green things growing

Come then, a song; a winding gentle song

Come while the afternoon of May

Consider the sea’s listless chime

Cool, and palm-shaded from the torrid heat

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas

Count each affliction, whether light or grave

Countess, I see the flying year

Count the flashes in the surf

Courage! he said, and pointed toward the land

Curious, the ways of these folk of humble and hardly condition

Cursed by the gods and crowned with shame

Darby dear, we are old and gray

Dark Lily without blame

Day is dead, and let us sleep

Day of my life! Where can she get?

Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the east

Dead. The dead year is lying at my feet

Dead, with their eyes to the foe

Dear child! whom sleep can hardly tame

Dear Cosmopolitan,—I know

Dear, did you know how sweet to me

Dear Eyes, set deep within the shade

Dear, had the world in its caprice

Dear, let me dream of love

Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee

Death stands above me, whispering low

Death, though already in the world, as yet

Deep Honeysuckle! in the silent eve

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Dorothy goes with her pails to the ancient well in the courtyard

Dost thou not hear? Amid dun, lonely hills

Dost thou remember, friend of vanished days

Doth it not thrill thee, Poet

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers

Do you recall that night in June

Dying, and loth to die, and long’d to die

England! since Shakespeare died no loftier day

Enough! we ’re tired, my heart and I

Even thus, methinks, a city rear’d should be

Faint grew the yellow buds of light

Fain would I have thee barter fates with me

Fair little spirit of the woodland mazes

Faithful reports of them have reached me oft!

Farewell, Life! my senses swim

Farewell, my Youth! for now we needs must part

Far off? Not far away

Far out at sea—the sun was high

Father! the little girl we see

Father, who keepest

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat

Fhairshon swore a feud

Fill, comrades, fill the bowl right well

Fingers on the holes, Johnny

Fleet, fleet and few, ay, fleet the moments fly

Flower in the crannied wall

Flower of the medlar

Flowers I would bring if flowers could make thee fairer

Forever with the Lord!

For our martyr’d Charles I pawn’d my plate

Forty Viziers saw I go

Fourteen small broidered berries on the hem

Four years!—and didst thou stay above

Fresh with all airs of woodland brooks

Friends, whom she look’d at blandly from her couch

From breakfast on through all the day

From falling leaf to falling leaf

From out the grave of one whose budding years

From plains that reel to southward, dim

From the bonny bells of heather

From the recesses of a lowly spirit

From this carved chair wherein I sit tonight

Frown’d the Laird on the Lord

Gamarra is a dainty steed

Gaze not at me, my poor unhappy bird

Gentle and grave, in simple dress

Gently!—gently!—down!—down!

Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning wheel

Give me, O friend, the secret of thy heart

Give me thy joy in sorrow, gracious Lord

Give me thyself! It were as well to cry

Glass antique, ’twixt thee and Nell

God made my lady lovely to behold

God spake three times and saved Van Elsen’s soul

God who created me

God with His million cares

God ye hear not, how shall ye hear me?

Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!

Gone art thou? gone, and is the light of day

Good-by in fear, good-by in sorrow

Gray o’er the pallid links, haggard and forsaken

Gray Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest

Green, in the wizard arms

Green is the plane-tree in the square

Green leaves panting for joy with the great wind rushing through

Hack and Hew were the sons of God

Half a league, half a league

Half kneeling yet, and half reclining

Half loving-kindliness and half disdain

Happy the man who so hath Fortune tried

Hark! ah, the nightingale

Has summer come without the rose

Hast thou no right to joy

Have little care that Life is brief

Heart of Earth, let us be gone

He came to call me back from death

He ceas’d, but while he spake, Rustum had risen

He crawls to the cliff and plays on a brink

He crouches, and buries his face on his knees

He is gone: better so. We should know who stand under

He is the happy wanderer, who goes

Hence, rude Winter! crabbed old fellow

Here doth Dionysia lie

Here I ’d come when weariest!

Here in the country’s heart

Here let us leave him; for his shroud the snow

Here Love the slain with Love the slayer lies

Here of a truth the world’s extremes are met

Here’s the gold cup all bossy with satyrs and saints

Here’s to him that grows it

Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound

Here where the sunlight

Here where under earth his head

Her face is hushed in perfect calm

Her hair was tawny with gold, her eyes with purple were dark

He rises and begins to round

Her Master gave the signal, with a look

He sang so wildly, did the Boy

He sat among the woods; he heard

He sat the quiet stream beside

He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower

He sought Australia’s far-famed isle

He tripp’d up the steps with a bow and a smile