![[Poetry X Logo]](http://poetryx.com/images/poetryXLogo.gif)
First Lines beginning with:
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
X
Y
Z
| View All
- Y a du jazz PARTOUT : by James A. Emanuel
- Ye are dead, they say, but ye swore, ye swore, by Don Marquis
- Ye aspiring ones, listen to the story of the unknown by Edgar Lee Masters
- Ye banks and braes and streams around by Robert Burns
- Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon, by Robert Burns
- Ye Bards in all your thousand dens, by Thomas Gent
- Ye blooming youth, possest of every grace, by Matilda Betham
- Ye blushing virgins happy are by William Habington
- Ye clouds! that far above me float and pause, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- Ye Cupids, droop each little head, by George Gordon Lord Byron
- Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, by Thomas Gray
- Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill by Herman Melville
- Ye flags of Piccadilly, by Arthur Hugh Clough
- Ye flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright, by John Milton
- Ye gentlest gales! oh, hither waft, by Henry Kirk White
- Ye gods that have a home beyond the world, by Edwin Arlington Robinson
- Ye hae heard Whigs crack o’ the Saints in the Bass, my faith, a gruesome tale; by Andrew Lang
- Ye have been fresh and green, by Robert Herrick
- Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes by John McCrae
- Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids, by John Keble
- Ye Highlands and ye Lawlands, by Anonymous
- Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands by Andrew Lang
- Ye holy tow’rs, that crown the azure deep, by William Lisle Bowles
- Ye holy women, say! will ye accept by Matilda Betham
- Ye hooded witches, baleful shapes that moan, by Siegfried Sassoon
- Ye learnèd sisters, which have oftentimes by Edmund Spenser
- Ye little birds that sit and sing by Thomas Heywood
- Ye living lamps, by whose dear light by Andrew Marvell
- Ye many twinkling stars, who yet do hold by Henry Kirk White
- Ye Mariners of England by Thomas Campbell
- Ye martial pow’rs, and all ye tuneful nine, by Phillis Wheatley
- Ye morning-glories, ring in the gale your bells, by James Oppenheim
- Ye poets ragged and forlorn, by Jonathan Swift
- Ye realms of beauty from afar, by Nannie R. Glass
- Ye sad musicians of the wood, by Alfred Castner King
- Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov’d recollection by George Gordon Lord Byron
- Ye stars that round the Sun of righteousness by John Keble
- Ye unseen spirits, whose wild melodies, by Henry Kirk White
- Ye wells, ye founts that fall by Andrew Lang
- Ye who are kicking against Fate, by Edgar Lee Masters
- Ye who have passed Death’s haggard hills; and ye by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
- Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it, by Robert Service
- Ye who read are still among the living; but I who write by Edgar Allan Poe
- Ye whose aspirings court the muse of lays, by Henry Kirk White
- Ye whose hearts are beating high by John Keble
- Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air, by William Cullen Bryant
- Ye young debaters over the doctrine by Edgar Lee Masters
- Yea, she hath looked Truth grimly face to face, by Emma Lazarus
- Year after year the artist wrought by Frances E. W. Harper
- Yearly thrilled the plum tree by John G. Neihardt
- Yearning upon the faint rose-curves that flit by Archibald Lampman
- Years have risen and fallen in darkness or in twilight, by Algernon Charles Swinburne
- Years, many parti-colour’d years, by Walter Savage Landor
- Yeats died Saturday in France. by Delmore Schwartz
- Yellow dust on a bumble by Carl Sandburg
- Yellow summer-throat sat singing by Hilda Conkling
- Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! by William Carlos Williams
- Yersel’ is’t? Imphm! Man that’s bad! by David Rorie
- Yes! heaven protect thee, thou gem of the ocean; by Joseph Rodman Drake
- Yes! I can suffer, sink with pain, by Matilda Betham
- Yes! in the sea of life enisled, by Matthew Arnold
- Yes, ’twill be over soon.—This sickly dream by Henry Kirk White
- Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
- Yes, faint was my applause and cold my praise, by Joseph Rodman Drake
- Yes, fled already is thy vital fire, by Henry Kirk White
- Yes, here I lie close to a stunted rose bush by Edgar Lee Masters
- Yes, I was wrong about the phoebe-bird. by George Parsons Lathrop
- Yes, in the stream and stress of things, by Andrew Lang
- Yes, it is drawing nigh— by Hattie Howard
- Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find by George MacDonald
- Yes, my ha’t ’s ez ha’d ez stone— by Paul Laurence Dunbar
- Yes, my stray steps have wander’d, wander’d far by Henry Kirk White
- Yes, Nightingale, through all the summer-time by Josephine Preston Peabody
- Yes, once more that dying strain, by Henry Kirk White
- Yes, there is one who makes us all lay down by George MacDonald
- Yes, you have it; I can see. by Edwin Arlington Robinson
- Yes. Why do we áll, seeing of a soldier, bless him? bless by Gerard Manley Hopkins
- Yesterday I held your hand, by Paul Laurence Dunbar
- Yesterday is History, by Emily Dickinson
- Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow, by D. H. Lawrence
- Yet if His Majesty, our sovereign lord, by Anonymous
- Yet if some voice that man could trust by Alfred Lord Tennyson
- Yet life is not a vision nor a prayer, by Emma Lazarus
- Yet once again, my Harp, yet once again by Henry Kirk White
- Yet once an earlier David took by Robert Graves
- Yet once more, and once more, awake, my Harp, by Henry Kirk White
- Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, by John Milton
- Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun! by William Cullen Bryant
- Yet one Song more! one high and solemn strain by Robert Southey
- Yet pity for a horse o’er-driven, by Alfred Lord Tennyson
- Yet still Alcithoe perverse remains, by Ovid
- Yet that ride had an end, as all rides have; by Edwin Arlington Robinson
- Yet when I am alone my eyes say, Come. by John Freeman
- Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
- Yet, my pretty sportive friend, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
- Yeux, lacs avec ma simple ivresse de renaître by Stéphane Mallarmé
- Yon black man-of-war-hawk that wheels in by Herman Melville
- Yon coward, with the streaming hair, by Matilda Betham
- Yon nightingale who mourns so plaintively by Emma Lazarus
- Yon strange blue city crowns a scarped steep by Edith Wharton
