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The Poet's Song
More fond than Cushat Dove
Music
Take, o take those lips away
No longer mourn for me
To Lucasta, on going to the wars
If thou would'st ease thine heart
To Althea, from prison
Why so pale and wan
Through the Ivory Gate
Thine eyes still shined for me
Weep you no more, sad fountains
Proud Maisie
Lay a garland on my hearse
When comes my Gwen
Love is a bable
And yet I love her till I die
Under the greenwood tree
On a time the amorous Silvy
O never say that I was false of heart
Ye little birds that sit and sing
Sleep
Julia
Nightfall in winter
Dirge in woods
The Spirit of the Spring
What part of dead eternity
The Blackbird
She is my love beyond all thought
The Faithful Lover