INDEX OF FIRST LINES AMERICAN SECTION A man there was, of simple kind.. A march in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown. And in the hanging gardens there is rain.... My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree... No more from out the sunset. Not with slow, funereal sound. Now through the stifling air thick with the murk. O Christ of God! whose life and death. O curfew of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn! Of all the rides since the birth of time... Often I think of the beautiful town.. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Once when the sun of the year was beginning to fall.... 1563 1244 1238 1641 1244 1230 1653 1151 1653 1634 1544 1219 1165 1552 1152 1142 1147 1220 ... 1569 1596 1304 1543 1144 1144 1145 1140 1147 1570 1569 .. 1139 River! that in silence windest. Seven scarlet poppies... Spring on the vineyards of Attica! Spring on the land. Thank Heaven! the crisis.... That face which no man ever saw. The dew bejewelled the greensward cold. The skies they were ashen and sober. This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign. Twenty stars to match his face..... Up from the meadows rich with corn. We sat within the farmhouse old.. 1654 1653 1151 1304 1580 1150 1219 1596 1144 1140 1231 1245 II12 When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom'd. |