Come live with me and be my love:\
And we will all the pleasures prove:\
{The }Passionate Shepherd{ to his Love}:\
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day{?}:\
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:\
Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave, and new!:\
Good pennyworths{! }but money cannot move:\
Fine Knacks{ for Ladies}:\
My mind to me a kingdom is:\
Such perfect joy therein I find:\
My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is:\
Underneath this stone doth lie:\
As much beauty as could die:\
Epitaph on Elizabeth{,} {L. H.}:\
Death be not proud, though some have called thee:\
Mighty and dreadful{,} for thou art not so:\
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may:\
Old Time is still a-flying:\
To the Virgins{,} {To Make Much of Time}:\
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?:\
Prithee{,} why so pale{?}:\
Stone walls do not a prison make:\
To Althea{,} From Prison:\
I could not love thee (Dear) so much,:\
Lov['|e]d I not hono{u}r more:\
To Lucasta{, Going to the Wars}:\
I saw Eternity the other night:\
Like a great ring of pure and endless light:\
Come and trip it as you go,:\
On the light fantastic toe:\
When I consider how my light is spent:\
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide:\
On His Blindness|When I Consider:\
The grave's a fine and private place{,}:\
But none{,} I think{,} do there embrace{.}:\
Great wits are sure to madness near allied:\
And thin partitions do their bounds divide:\
Absalom and Achitophel|Absalom:\
A little learning is a dangerous thing{;}:\
Drink deep{,} or taste not the Pierian spring{.}:\
{An }Essay on Criticism|{On }Criticism:\
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day{,}:\
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea:\
Elegy{ Written in a Country Church{-| }Yard:\
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley{,}:\
An{'|d} lea{'|v}e us nought but grief an{'|d} pain for promised joy{.}:\
Tiger! tiger! burning bright!:\
In the forests of the night:\
My heart leaps up when I behold:\
The world is too much with us; late and soon{,}:\
Getting and spending{,} we lay waste our powers:\
{The }World is Too Much With Us|Sonnet:\
A sadder and a wiser man{,}:\
He rose the morrow morn:\
{The }{Rime of }{The }Ancient Mariner:\
{Samuel }{Taylor }Coleridge
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan:\
A stately pleasure{-| }dome decree:\
{Samuel }{Taylor }Coleridge
She walks in beauty, like the night:\
Of cloudless climes and starry skies:\
{George Gordon, }{Lord }Byron
I want a hero- an uncommon want{,}:\
When every year and month sends forth a new one:\
{George Gordon, }{Lord }Byron
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.:\
Its loveliness increases{;|.} {it will never/Pass into nothingness}:\
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole:\
Unequal laws unto a savage race:\
{Alfred{,} }{Lord }Tennyson
He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force{,}:\
Something better than his dog{,} a little dearer than his horse:\
{Alfred{,} }{Lord }Tennyson
'Tis better to have loved and lost:\
Than never to have loved at all:\
{In }Memoriam{ A. H. H.}:\
{Alfred{,} }{Lord }Tennyson
Kind hearts are more than coronets,:\
And simple faith than Norman blood{.}:\
Lady Clara Vere de Vere:\
{Alfred{,} }{Lord }Tennyson
Home{-| }Thoughts{,} From Abroad:\
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp{,}:\
Or what's a heaven for{?}:\
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.:\
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height:\
Sonnet{s} {From the Portuguese}{ 43}:\
{Elizabeth }{Barrett }Browning
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough{,}:\
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread{-|,| }and Thou:\
{The }Rubaiyat{ of Omar Khayyam}{ 12}:\
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,:\
Moves on{\:|,|.} nor all your Piety nor Wit:\
{The }Rubaiyat{ of Omar Khayyam}{ 71}:\
Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire:\
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire:\
{The }Rubaiyat{ of Omar Khayyam}{ 99}:\
Remember me when I am gone away,:\
Gone far away into the silent land:\
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,:\
And the hunter home from the hill:\
{Robert }{Louis }Stevenson
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;:\
I fled Him, down the arches of the years:\
So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;:\
You're a {pore|poor} benighted {'|h}eathen but a first class fightin{'|g} man:\
Morns abed and daylight slumber:\
Were not meant for man alive:\
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,:\
And a small cabin build there{,} of clay and wattles made:\
{The }{Lake Isle of }Innisfree:\
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,:\
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by:\
April is the cruelest month, breeding:\
Lilacs out of the dead land:\
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs:\
About the little house and happy as the grass was green:\
Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit:\
Of that forbidden tree{,} whose mortal taste:\