They that never had the use, Thorough yon same bending plain, Those lips, that Love's own hands did make, Thou art to all lost love the best, Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, Thrice happy he who by some shady grove, Thrice, oh, thrice happy shepherd's life and state, Thus to be lost, and thus to sink and die, Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream! 'T is from high life, high characters are drawn, 'T is long since we were forced to part, at least it seems so to my grief, 443 To fair Fidele's grassy tomb, To him who in the love of nature holds, To whom belongs this valley fair, 'T was at the royal feast, for Persia won, 315 351 190 428 Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green, Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, Underneath this marble hearse, Up from the shore of the placid lake, 447 146 391 - 361 213 What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, 15 111 350 Page When in disgrace, with fortune and men's eyes, When love with unconfined wings, 58 18 72 43 When May is in his prime, When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 414 392 When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free, When the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame, Where the remote Bermudas ride, Why came I so untimely forth, Will you hear a Spanish lady, With blackest moss the flower-plots, With fingers weary and worn, 265 273 187 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climbst the skies, Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 't is true, 130 233 311 21 385 |