Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/498

This watery vague how vast! This misty globe, 219.
Tho' summer days are all too fleet, 260.
Thou art not fit to die?—Why not? 173.
Thou art so used, Love, to thine own bird's song, 17.
Thou Christ, my soul is hurt and bruised! 245.
Thou grim and haggard wanderer, who dost look, 54.
Thou thinkest thou hast lived, 338.
Thou who lov'st and art forsaken, 106.
Thou who wouldst serve thy country and thy kind, 400.
Three blossoms in a happy garden grow, 435.
Three messengers to me from heaven came, 61.
Thrice is sweet music sweet when every word, 346.
Through all the cunning ages, 272.
Through love to light! O, wonderful the way, 38.
Through starry space two angels dreamed their flight, 224.
Through the garden sunset-window, 431.
Thunder in the north sky, 148.
Thus did he speak, thus was he comforted, 336.
Thy lover, Love, would have some nobler way, 16.
Thy mind is like a crystal brook, 229.
'T is night upon the lake. Our bed of boughs, 59.
'T is twelve o' the clock, 146.
To-day I saw the picture of a man, 5.
To-night the music doth a burden bear, 150.
To rest from weary work one day of seven, 55.
To see the rose of morning slow unfold, 229.
To send fit thanks, I would I had the art, 350.
To the ancient races of, 318.
To Thee, Eternal Soul, be praise! 374.
Too much of praise for the quick, pitiless blow! 271.
Too soon? But heroes always die too soon! 453.
Touch not with dark regret his perfect fame, 135.
True love to liberty is never foe, 372.
'T was in the year when mutterings, loud and deep, 111.
'T was said: When roll of drum and battle's roar, 450.
'T was Sunday evening as I wandered down, 140.
Two heroes do the world's insistent work, 339.
Two men on thrones, or crouched behind, 301.
Two streams of music beat upon my heart, 452.
Two travelers met upon a plain, 26.

Ungenerous! 353.

Was ever music lovelier than to-night? 386.
Watchman! What seest thou in the New Dawn? 422.
We are alike, and yet,—O strange and sweet! 30.
We have come nearer, friend! 439.
We met upon the crowded way, 96.
Wed, thou, with sweet and silent Death, 421.
Were true hearts bells, all breezes would be bringing, 346.
What can love do for thee, Love? 25.