Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern British Poetry. 1920.
Index of First Lines
- Ah, London! London! our delight
- A late lark twitters from the quiet skies
- A letter from my love to-day!
- A little flock of clouds go down to rest
- All in the April morning
- Amid this hot green glowing gloom
- And then I pressed the shell
- And will you cut a stone for him
- April, April
- A Queen was beloved by a jester
- As a white candle
- As one, at midnight, wakened by the call
- A voice peals in this end of night
- Balkis was in her marble town
- Beautiful lie the dead
- Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come
- Before I joined the Army
- Behold me waiting—waiting for the knife
- Beyond my window in the night
- Bring Kateen-beug and Maurya Jude
- Bugler sent a call of high romance
- By the lamplit stall I loitered, feasting my eyes
- Carol, every violet has
- City’s heat is like a leaden pall
- Day begins to droop
- Dear, they are praising your beauty
- Door of Heaven is on the latch
- Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet
- Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a thousand mile away
- Driver rubbed at his nettly chin
- Eve, with her basket, was
- Facing the guns, he jokes as well
- Far up the dim twilight fluttered
- Father of the thunder
- For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth
- For thee, I shall not die
- Free to all souls the hidden beauty calls
- From its blue vase the rose of evening drops
- God dreamed a man
- Go from me: I am one of those who fall
- Grand road from the mountain goes shining to the sea
- Great gold apples of light
- Great is the sun, and wide he goes
- Groping along the tunnel, step by step
- Had he and I but met
- Have you forgotten yet?
- He came and took me by the hand
- Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn
- Here lies a most beautiful lady
- Here’s an example from
- How could I love you more?
- How like her! But ’tis she herself
- Hunchèd camels of the night
- I am the mountainy singer
- I am the torch, she saith, and what to me
- I do not think that skies and meadows are
- I dreamed last night of a dome of beaten gold
- I have grown tired of sorrow and human tears
- I fear to love thee, Sweet, because
- If I had peace to sit and sing
- If I should die, think only this of me
- If I should ever by chance grow rich
- If suddenly a clod of earth should rise
- I hear an army charging upon the land
- I have been so great a lover: filled my days
- I have seen old ships sail like swans asleep
- I know a green grass path that leaves the field
- I laid me down upon the shore
- I’m a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog, and lone
- I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky
- In a fair place
- I never see the newsboys run
- In Flanders fields the poppies blow
- In the secret Valley of Silence
- In wiser days, my darling rosebud, blown
- I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
- I saw God. Do you doubt it?
- I saw the spires of Oxford
- I stand alone through each long day
- I should like to imagine
- Is love, then, so simple my dear?
- Is there a great green commonwealth of Thought
- Is there anybody there? said the Traveller
- I turn the page and read
- Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose
- It’s hard to know if you’re alive or dead
- It was a bowl of roses
- It was the good ship Billycock
- I was so chill, and overworn, and sad
- I will arise and go hence to the west
- I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree
- I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
- Kings go by with jewelled crowns
- Last night a sword-light in the sky
- Late lies the wintry sun a-bed
- Let me go forth, and share
- Like a gondola of green scented fruits
- Little angels of Heaven
- London, my beautiful
- Look at my knees
- Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
- Mountains, and the lonely death at last
- Moving sun-shapes on the spray
- My arms are round you, and I lean
- My dead love came to me, and said
- Nearer and ever nearer
- Nightingale has a lyre of gold
- Not of the princes and prelates with periwigged charioteers
- Now very quietly, and rather mournfully
- O frankly bald and obviously stout!
- Of the old house, only a few crumbled
- Oh, I be vun of the useful troibe
- One asked of regret
- Only a man harrowing clods
- Only a starveling singer seeks
- O silver-throated Swan
- O, to have a little house!
- Out of the night that covers me
- Out of the wood of thoughts that grows by night
- Peace is declared, and I return
- Poor Mary Byrne is dead
- Poor tired Tim! It’s sad for him.
- Return to greet me, colours that were my joy
- Saints have adored the lofty soul of you
- Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake?
- Since man has been articulate
- So faint, no ear is sure it hears
- Softly along the road of evening
- Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me
- Soldiers are citizens of death’s gray land
- So, without overt breach, we fall apart
- Sunset and silence!
- Tall nettles cover up, as they have done
- Tattered outlaw of the earth
- Thames nocturne of blue and gold
- Then came the cry of “Call all hands on deck!“
- There is a dish to hold the sea
- There is no wrath in the stars
- There’s a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street
- There they stand, on their ends, the fifty faggots
- These be the little verses, rough and uncultured
- They left the fury of the fight
- This is the end of him, here he lies
- This is the image of my last content
- This much, O heaven—if I should brood or rave
- Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul
- Time, you old gipsy man
- Time you won your town the race
- Tossed on the glittering air they soar and skim
- To the Heavens above us
- Tread lightly, she is near
- Under the wide and starry sky
- Wake: the silver dusk returning
- We are the music-makers
- What a grudge I am bearing the earth
- What thing shall be held up to woman’s beauty?
- When a dream is born in you
- When flighting time is on, I go
- When I am living in the Midlands
- When in the mines of dark and silent thought
- When I was but thirteen or so
- When I was one-and-twenty
- When primroses are out in Spring
- When Susan’s work was done, she’d sit
- When the flush of a newborn sun fell first
- When the white flame in us is gone
- Where am I from? From the green hills of Erin
- Where the thistle lifts a purple crown
- White founts falling in the Courts of the sun
- While joy gave clouds the light of stars
- With delicate, mad hands, behind his sordid bars
- Within your magic web of hair, lies furled
- With rue my heart is laden
- You are blind like us. Your hurt no man designed
- You may talk o’ gin an’ beer
- Youth’s for an hour
- You would have understood me, had you waited