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Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn
Give all to love
Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet
Give pardon, blessed soul, to my bold cries
Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill
Go and catch a falling star
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
God Lyaeus, ever young
Good-morrow to the day so fair
Great men have been among us; hands that penn'd
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