| A certain neighbour lying sick to death | xvi. | 19 |
| A Rabbi told me: On the day allowed | xv. | 146 |
| Ah, but how each loved each, Marquis! | xv. | 188 |
| Ah, did you once see Shelley plain | vi. | 190 |
| Ah, Love, but a day | vii. | 45 |
| All I believed is true! | v. | 28 |
| All I can say is—I saw it! | xiv. | 58 |
| All June I bound the rose in sheaves | vi. | 159 |
| All's over, then: does truth sound bitter | vi. | 43 |
| All that I know | vi. | 125 |
| Among these latter busts we count by scores | v. | 175 |
| And so you found that poor room dull | xiv. | 70 |
| "And what might that bold man's announcement be" | xvi. | 24 |
| Anyhow, once full Dervish, youngsters came | xvi. | 12 |
| As I ride, as I ride | vi. | 13 |
| "As like as a Hand to another Hand!" | vii. | 62 |
| "Ay, but, Ferishtah,"—a disciple smirked | xvi. | 58 |
|
| Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! | vi. | 51 |
| Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! | vi. | 6 |
| But do not let us quarrel any more | iv. | 221 |
| But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow! | vii. | 170 |
|
| Christ God who savest man, save most | v. | 11 |
| Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled isles) | iv. | 279 |
| Could I but live again | xiv. | 51 |
|
| Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave | vi. | 187 |
| Dear, had the world in its caprice | vi. | 168 |
| Dervish—(though yet un-dervished, call him so | xvi. | 6 |
|
| Escape me? | vi. | 171 |
|
| Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat | vii. | 168 |
| Fee, faw, fum! bubble and squeak! | v. | 167 |
| First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! | xv. | 17 |
| Flower—I never fancied, jewel—I profess you! | xiv. | 60 |
| Fortù, Fortù, my beloved one | v. | 54 |
|
| Going his rounds one day in Ispahan | xvi. | 9 |
| Grand rough old Martin Luther | v. | 90 |
| Grow old along with me! | vii. | 109 |
| Gr-r-r—there go, my heart's abhorrence! | vi. | 26 |
|
| Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare | vi. | 66 |
| Hamelin Town's in Brunswick | v. | 102 |
| "Heigho!" yawned one day King Francis | v. | 36 |
| Here is a story shall stir you! Stand up, Greeks dead and gone | xv. | 85 |
| Here is a thing that happened. Like wild beasts whelped, for den | xv. | 26 |
| Here's my case. Of old I used to love him | xiv. | 54 |
| Here's the garden she walked across | vi. | 19 |
| Here was I with my arm and heart | vii. | 94 |
| High in the dome, suspended, of Hell, sad triumph, behold us! | xv. | 199 |
| Hist, but a word, fair and soft! | vi. | 196 |
| How of his fate, the Pilgrims' soldier-guide | xvi. | 40 |
| How very hard it is to be | v. | 264 |
| How well I know what I mean to do | vi. | 126 |
|
| I and Clive were friends—and why not? Friends! I think you laugh, my lad | xv. | 88 |
| I am a goddess of the ambrosial courts | iv. | 181 |
| I am indeed the personage you know | xiv. | 86 |
| I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! | iv. | 205 |
| I could have painted pictures like that youth's | iv. | 202 |
| I dream of a red-rose tree | vi. | 180 |
| I know a Mount, the gracious Sun perceives | iv. | 294 |
| I leaned on the turf | vii. | 54 |
| I—"Next Poet?" No, my hearties | xiv. | 31 |
| I only knew one poet in my life | iv. | 176 |
| I said—Then, dearest, since 't is so | v. | 96 |
| I send my heart up to thee, all my heart | v. | 66 |
| I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he | vi. | 9 |
| I've a Friend, over the sea | v. | 44 |
| I will be quiet and talk with you | vii. | 51 |
| I wish that when you died last May | vii. | 165 |
| I wonder do you feel to-day | vi. | 150 |
| If a stranger passed the tent of Hóseyn, he cried "A churl's!" | xv. | 108 |
| If one could have that little head of hers | vii. | 176 |
| Is all our fire of shipwreck wood | vii. | 47 |
| It is a lie—their Priests, their Pope | vi. | 34 |
| It once might have been, once only | vii. | 171 |
| It was roses, roses, all the way | v. | 6 |
|
| June was not over | vi. | 161 |
| Just for a handful of silver he left us | vi. | 7 |
|
| Karshish, the picker up of learning's crumbs | iv. | 186 |
| Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King | vi. | 3 |
| King Charles, and who'll do him right now? | vi. | 5 |
| "Knowledged deposed, then!"—groaned whom that most grieved | xvi. | 62 |
|
| Let them fight it out, friend! things have gone too far | vi. | 183 |
| Let's contend no more, Love | vi. | 48 |
| Let us begin and carry up this corps | v. | 154 |
| "Look, I strew beans" | xvi. | 69 |
|
| May I print, Shelley, how it came to pass | xiv. | 104 |
| Morning, evening, noon and night | v. | 19 |
| Moses the Meek was thirty cubits high | xv. | 254 |
| My first thought was, he lied in every word | v. | 194 |
| My grandfather says he remembers he saw, when a youngster long ago | xv. | 3 |
| My heart sank with our claret-flask | vi. | 16 |
| My love, this is the bitterest, that thou | vi. | 142 |
|
| Nay but you, who do not love her | vi. | 47 |
| Never any more | vi. | 175 |
| Never the time and the place | xv. | 256 |
| Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away | vi. | 97 |
| "No boy, we must not"—so began | xiv. | 117 |
| No, for I'll save it! Seven years since | vii. | 246 |
| No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk | iv. | 238 |
| No protesting, dearest! | xiv. | 71 |
| Now, don't, sir! Don't expose me! Just this once! | vii. | 182 |
| Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly | vi. | 30 |
|
| O the old wall here! How I could pass | xiv. | 3 |
| O worthy of belief I hold it was | xv. | 159 |
| Of the million or two, more or less | v. | 24 |
| Oh but is it not hard, Dear? | xv. | 195 |
| Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find! | vi. | 72 |
| Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth | vii. | 61 |
| Oh, Love—no, Love! All the noise below, Love | xvi. | 90 |
| Oh, the beautiful girl, too white | vii. | 69 |
| Oh, to be in England | vi. | 95 |
| Oh, what a dawn of day! | vi. | 58 |
| On the first of the Feast of Feasts | vii. | 250 |
| On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety two | xiv. | 77 |
| One day it thundered and lightened | xv. | 197 |
| Only the prism's obstruction shows aright | vii. | 167 |
| Out of the little chapel I burst | v. | 209 |
| Over the ball of it | xiv. | 49 |
|
| Petrus Aponensis—there was a magician! | xv. | 117 |
| Plague take all your pedants, say I! | vi. | 22 |
| Pray, Reader, have you eaten ortolans | xvi. | 3 |
|
| Query: was ever a quainter | xiv. | 5 |
| Quoth an inquirer, "Praise the Merciful!" | xvi. | 32 |
| Quoth one: "Sir, solve a scruple! No true sage | xvi. | 47 |
|
| Room after room | vi. | 170 |
| Round the cape of a sudden came the sea | vi. | 46 |
|
| Said Abner, "At last that art come! Ere I tell, ere thou speak | vi. | 98 |
| See, as the prettiest graves will do in time | vi. | 45 |
| Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself? | xiv. | 39 |
| She should never have looked at me | vi. | 39 |
| Sing me a hero! Quench my thirst | xv. | 57 |
| So far as our story approaches the end | v. | 92 |
| So, friend, your shop was all your house! | xiv. | 42 |
| So, I shall see her in three days | vi. | 172 |
| Solomon King of the Jews and the Queen of Sheba Balkis | xv. | 182 |
| Some people hang portraits up | vii. | 178 |
| Stand still, true poet that you are! | vi. | 192 |
| Still ailing, Wind? Wilt be appeased or no? | vii. | 56 |
| Still you stand, still you listen, still you smile! | xiv. | 63 |
| Stop, let me have the truth of that! | vii. | 85 |
| Stop playing, poet! May a brother speak? | iv. | 173 |
| Suppose that we part (work done, comes play) | xv. | 258 |
| [Supposed of Pamphylax the Antiochene | vii. | 120 |
|
| Take the cloak from his face, and at first | vi. | 186 |
| That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers | vi. | 163 |
| That second time they hunted me | v. | 47 |
| That's my last Duchess painted on the wall | v. | 8 |
| That was I, you heard last night | vi. | 155 |
| The grey sea and the long black land | vi. | 46 |
| The Lord, we look to once for all | v. | 161 |
| The morn when first it thunders in March | vi. | 77 |
| "The poets pour us wine—" | xiv. | 141 |
| The rain set early in to-night | v. | 191 |
| The swallow has set her six young on the rail | vii. | 4 |
| There is nothing to remember in me | vii. |
| There's a palace in Florence, the world knows well | v. | 178 |
| There's heaven above, and night by night | iv. | 199 |
| There they are, my fifty men and women | iv. | 296 |
| "They tell me, your carpenters," quoth I to my friend the Russ | xv. | 32 |
| This is a spray the Bird clung to | vi. | 154 |
| This now, this other story makes amends | xv. | 209 |
| Touch him ne'er so lightly, into song he broke | xv. | 164 |
| 'Twas Bedford Special Assize, one Daft Midsummer's Day | xv. | 60 |
|
| Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity! | iv. | 232 |
|
| Wanting is—what? | xv. | 167 |
| We were two lovers; let me lie by her | xiv. | 61 |
| What, I disturb thee at thy morning-meal | xvi. | 53 |
| What is he buzzing in my ears? | vii. | 162 |
| What's become of Waring | v. | 78 |
| Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles | vi. | 54 |
| 'Will sprawl, now that the heat of day is best | vii. | 149 |
| Will you hear my story also | xv. | 169 |
| Would it were I had been false, not you! | vii. | 78 |
| Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build | vii. | 101 |
|
| "You are sick, that's sure"—they say | xv. | 83 |
| You know, we French stormed Ratisbon | v. | 3 |
| Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees | vi. | 92 |
| You're my friend | v. | 116 |