Verse > Anthologies > Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. > The Oxford Book of English Verse
Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Index of First Lines
Nay but you, who do not love her
Round the cape of a sudden came the sea
Nay but you, who do not love her
Near to the silver Trent
Never seek to tell thy love
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore
New doth the sun appear
News from a foreign country came
Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth
Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away
No coward soul is mine
No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
Not, Celia, that I juster am
Nothyng ys to man so dere
Not ours, say some, the thought of death to dread
Not unto us, O Lord
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white
Now the lusty spring is seen
Now the North wind ceases
Now winter nights enlarge
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room

O brignall banks are wild and fair
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done
O Christ of God! whose life and death
O come, soft rest of cares! come, Night!
O earth, lie heavily upon her eyes
Of all the flowers rising now
Of all the girls that are so smart
Of all the torments, all the cares
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
O fly, my Soul! What hangs upon
O fly not, Pleasure, pleasant-hearted Pleasure
Of Nelson and the North
Of Neptune's empire let us sing
Of on that is so fayr and bright
O for some honest lover's ghost
O for the mighty wakening that aroused
O friend! I know not which way I must look
Often I think of the beautiful town
Oft, in the stilly night
O goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
O happy dames! that may embrace
O happy Tithon! if thou know'st thy hap
Oh how comely it is and how reviving
O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
O I hae come from far away
O joy of creation
O lusty May, with Flora queen!
O many a day have I made good ale in the glen
O Mary, at thy window be
O Mary, go and call the cattle home
O memory, thou fond deceiver
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O mortal folk, you may behold and see
O my Dark Rosaleen
O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit
O my Luve 's like a red, red rose
On a day—alack the day!
On a starr'd night Prince Lucifer uprose
On a time the amorous Silvy
Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee
On either side the river lie
One more Unfortunate
O never say that I was false of heart
One word is too often profaned
Only tell her that I love
On parent knees, a naked new-born child
On the deck of Patrick Lynch's boat I sat in woful plight
On the Sabbath-day
On the wide level of a mountain's head
O perfect Light, which shaid away
O're the smooth enameld green
Orpheus with his lute made trees
O ruddier than the cherry!
O saw ye bonnie Lesley
O saw ye not fair Ines?
O sing unto my roundelay
O sleep, my babe, hear not the rippling wave
O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
O sorrow!
O that 'twere possible
O the sad day!
Others abide our question. Thou art free
O thou, by Nature taught
O thou that swing'st upon the waving hair
O thou undaunted daughter of desires!
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
O time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
O to be in England
O turn away those cruel eyes
Out of the night that covers me
Out upon it, I have loved
Over hill, over dale
Over the mountains
Over the sea our galleys went
O waly, waly, up the bank
O were my Love yon lilac fair
O western wind, when wilt thou blow
O what a plague is love!
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms
O wha will shoe my bonny foot?
O which is the last rose?
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
O world, be nobler, for her sake!
O world, in very truth thou art too young
O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she
O you plant the pain in my heart with your wistful eyes

Pack, clouds, away! and welcome, day!
Passing away, saith the World, passing away
Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams
Past ruin'd Ilion Helen lives
Peace, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?
Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee
Phoebus, arise!
Piping down the valleys wild
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Praise is devotion fit for mighty minds
Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips
Proud Maisie is in the wood
Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak
Pure stream, in whose transparent wave
Put your head, darling, darling, darling

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose
Quhen Flora had o'erfret the firth
Quoth tongue of neither maid nor wife

Rain set early in to-night
Red rose whispers of passion
Reivers they stole Fair Annie
Remain, ah not in youth alone!
Remember me when I am gone away
Return, return! all night my lamp is burning
Ring, so worn as you behold
Rise, said the Master, come unto the feast
Robin sat on gude green hill
Roll forth, my song, like the rushing river
Rorate coeli desuper!
Rose-cheek'd Laura, come
Roses, their sharp spines being gone
Rose was sick and smiling died
Round the cape of a sudden came the sea

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