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Bards of Passion and of Mirth
Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come
Beauty clear and fair
Beauty sat bathing by a spring
Before the falling summer sun
Behold her, single in the field
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Beneath her window in the fragrant night
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks
Best and brightest, come away!
Bid me to live, and I will live
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
Brave flowers—that I could gallant it like you
Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art
Bring me wine, but wine which never grew
“But who art thou, with curious beauty graced
But yesterday the tourney, all the eager joy of life
By the shore of Gitche Gumee
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