# The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman/Index of First Lines

Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company pages 473-478
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
A cloister tale,—a strange and ancient thing, 422. A dread voice from the mountain cried to me, 212. A haunt the mountain roadside near, 333. A hundred years, 't is writ,—O presage vain! 198. A wind and a voice from the North! 152. Abbot and monks of Westminster, 436. Afterward, soon as the chaste Persephone hither and thither, 230. All night we hear the rattling flaw, 461. All things on Earth that are accounted great, 146. Around his loins, when the last breath had gone, 455.
Back from the trebly crimsoned field, 12. Bayard, awaken not this music strong, 211. Between the outer Keys, 328. Bring no more flowers and books and precious things! 400. But come now, down with the harvest! 225.
Came the morning of that day, 9. Clothed in sable, crowned with gold, 411. Come, let us burst the cerements and the shroud, 309. Could we but know, 465.
Do you know the blue of the Carib Sea, 325. Do you remember our charming times, 366.
Earth, let thy softest mantle rest, 164. England! since Shakespeare died no loftier day, 454. Exquisite tufts of perfume and of light, 211.
Fall'n like an eagle from his scaur, 216. "Forgive them, for they know not what they do!" 60. From the commandant's quarters on Westchester height, 389.
Give me to die unwitting of the day, 465. Gone at last, 162. Good-bye, Walt! 198. "Grant him," I said, "a well-earned name," 452. Great Ares, whose tempestuous godhood found, 243.
Had I, my love declared, the tireless wing, 306. Hark! through the archways old, 145.
Harp of New England song, 183. Health to the poet, scholar, wit, divine, 213. Hendrich Van Ghelt of Monmouth shore, 15. Here where the curfew, 127. Hither, where a woven roof, 343. How many years have made their flights, 315. How now are the Others faring? Where sit They all in state? 180. How was it then with Nature when the soul, 194.
I have a little kinsman, 463. I know an island which the sun, 337. I know not if moonlight or starlight, 377. I loved: and in the morning sky, 401. I sat beneath a fragrant tasselled tree, 434. I walk in the morning twilight, 398. I walk the lane's dim hollow, 445. If I had been a rich man's girl, 407. In fallow college days, Tom Harland, 84. In Gloucester port lie fishing craft, 119. In January, when down the dairy, 114. Is it naught? Is it naught, 413.
John Brown in Kansas settled, like a steadfast Yankee farmer, 3. Just at this full noon of summer, 319. Just where the Treasury's marble front, 90.
King Henri is King Stephen's peer, 332.
Ladies, Ladies Huntington, your father served, we know, 130. Lady, had the lot been mine, 433. Long since, there was a Princess of the blood, 258. Look on this cast, and know the hand, 435. Love, the winds long to lure you to their home, 354. Love, these vagrant songs may woo you, 335.
Mute, sightless visitant, 450.
Night wind, whispering wind, 339. No clouds are in the morning sky, 371. No sandalled footsteps fall, 173. Noël! Noël! 381. Not for ourselves alone the God, who fathered that stripling, 227. Not thus, Ulysses, with a tender word, 240. Not yet! No, no,—you would not quote, 414. Now dies the rippling murmur of the strings, 340. Now making exit to the outer vast, 456.
O lark! sweet lark! 361. O long are the years of waiting, when lovers' hearts are bound, 116. O Love! Love! Love! what times were those, 99.
O pilgrim from the Indies! 382. O Thou, whose glorious orbs on high, 212. O what a sore campaign, 207. O wretched woman indeed, and O most wise, 234. Of all the beautiful demons who fasten on human hearts, 403. Off Maracaibo's wall, 349. Oh, what a set of Vagabundos, 347. Olympia? Yes, strange tidings from the city, 251. Once more, dear mother Earth, we stand, 167. Once more on the fallow hillside, as of old, I lie at rest, 110. One by one they died, 74. One can never quite forget, 369. Only the sunny hours, 378. Our great-great-grandpapas had schooled, 126. Out from the seething Stream, 327. Out, out, Old Age! aroint ye! 417. Over the Carib Sea to-night, 356.
Poet, in thy sacred verse, 397. Poet, wherefore hither bring, 257. Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin, 368.
Queen Katherine of Arragon, 363.
Rosemary! could we but give you, 219. Round the old board once more we feast together! 135.
Sadde songe is out of season, 440. See, what a beauty! Half-shut eyes, 442. Seven women loved him. When the wrinkled pall, 402. She seemed an angel to our infant eyes! 400. Sleeping, I dreamed that thou wast mine, 369. So that soldierly legend is still on its journey, 11. Soe, Mistress Anne, faire neighbour myne, 124. Sons of New England, in the fray, 13. Splendors of morning the billow-crests brighten, 309. Sweetheart, name the day for me, 385.
That border land 'twixt Day and Night be mine, 210. That sovereign thought obscured? That vision clear, 207. That year our Equinoctial came along, 303. That year? Yes, doubtless I remember still, 441. The conference-meeting through at last, 109. The hand that drew thee lies in Roman soil, 451. The second landing-place. Above, 96. The silent world is sleeping, 380. The sunset darkens in the west, 370. The sunset fires old Portsmouth spires, 449. The sweetest sound our whole year round, 317. The tryst is kept. How fares it with each one, 136.
Then, shuddering an instant, with the fear, 395. There were seven angels erst that spanned, 447. This was a magician's cell, 205. Thou art mine, thou hast given thy word, 376. Thou shalt have sun and shower from heaven above, 429. Thou,—whose endearing hand once laid in sooth, 454. Though Arkádi's shattered pile, 250. 'T is fifteen hundred years, you say, 419. Trailing hemlock, serried spruce, 220. 'T was the season of feasts, when the blithe birds had met, 416. Twelve hundred miles and more, 409. Two thousand feet in air it stands, 311. Two towers the old Cathedral lifts, 353.
Vainly, O burning Poets! 363. Voice of the western wind! 362.
Waking, I have been nigh to Death, 461. Warder at ocean's gate, 209. Wave, wave your glorious battle-flags, brave soldiers of the North, 60. We stood around the dreamless form, 193. Weary at length of the ancestral gloom, 192. Well, Helen, quite two years have flown, 406. Wert thou on earth to-day, immortal one, 201. What ho! dumb jester, cease to grin and mask it! 430. What seest thou, when the peaks above thee stand, 192. What! shall that sudden blade, 172. What's this! your tall ship sighted at the line? 220. What would you do, my dear one said, 463. When buttercups are blossoming, 77. When Christmas-Eve is ended, 386. When Sibyl kept her tryst with me, the harvest moon was rounded, 444. When the rude world's relentless war has pressed, 306. Where nowadays the Battery lies, 69. Where's he that died o' Wednesday? 382. Which is the Wind that brings the cold? 372. Whither away, Robin, 376. Whittier! the Land that loves thee, she whose child, 190. Who knew him, loved him. His the longing heart, 206. Why should I constant be? 379. With proud, uplifted head, 217. Within our summer hermitage, 372. Within the garden of Beaucaire, 383.
Yes, Doctor, surely we recall, 214.
Zounds! how the price went flashing through, 93.
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