Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Shall I, wasting in despair She dwelt among the untrodden ways She is not fair to outward view She walks in beauty, like the night She was a phantom of delight Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile Souls of Poets dead and gone Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king Star that bringest home the bee Stern Daughter of the voice of God! Surprised by joy--impatient as the wind Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade Swiftly walk over the western wave Take, O take those lips away Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind Tell me where is Fancy bred That time of year thou may'st in me behold That which her slender waist confined The curfew tolls the knell of parting day The forward youth that would appear The fountains mingle with the river The glories of our blood and state The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King The lovely lass o' Inverness The merchant, to secure his treasure The more we live, more brief appear The poplars are fell'd! farewell to the shade The sun is warm, the sky is clear The sun upon the lake is low The twentieth year is well-nigh past The World is too much with us; late and soon The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man There be none of Beauty's daughters There is a flower, the lesser Celandine There is a garden in her face There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream They that have power to hurt, and will do none This is the month, and this the happy morn This life, which seems so fair Three years she grew in sun and shower Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright Timely blossom, Infant fair Tired with all these, for restful death I cry Toll for the brave To me, fair Friend, you never can be old 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 'Twas on a lofty vase's side Two Voices are there, one is of the Sea Under the greenwood tree Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying Victorious men of earth, no more