Bob Southey! You're a poet—Poet-Laureate (Don Juan, Dedication), vi. 3
Born in a garret, in the kitchen bred (Poems of the Separation), iii. 540
Breeze of the night in gentler sighs (Hours of Idleness), i. 262
Bright be the place of thy soul! (Poems 1814-1816), iii. 426
But once I dared to lift my eyes (Poems 1816-1823), iv. 564
By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept (Hebrew Melodies), iii. 402
Candour compels me, Becher! to commend (Hours of Idleness), i. 114
Chill and mirk is the nightly blast (Poems 1809-1813), iii. 7
Come, blue-eyed Maid of Heaven!—but Thou alas! (Childe Harold, Canto II.), ii. 99
Could I remount the river of my years (Poems of July-September, 1816), iv. 51