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I am afraid to think about my death
I am that which began
I am! yet what I am who cares, or knows?
I arise from dreams of thee
I cannot eat but little meat
I dare not ask a kiss
I did not choose thee, dearest. It was Love
I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair
I dream'd that, as I wander'd by the way
I dug, beneath the cypress shade
I feed a flame within, which so torments me
I got me flowers to straw Thy way
I had a friend who battled for the truth
I have a mistress, for perfections rare
I know a thing that 's most uncommon
I know my soul hath power to know all things
I leant upon a coppice gate
I left thee last, a child at heart
I left, to earth, a little maiden fair
I listened to the hunger-hearted clown
I long have had a quarrel set with Time
I loved a lass, a fair one
I loved him not; and yet now he is gone
I loved thee once; I'll love no more
I met a traveller from an antique land
I mind as 'ow the night afore that show
I mind me in the days departed
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong
I, my dear, was born to-day
I play'd with you 'mid cowslips blowing
I pray thee, leave, love me no more
I pray you, tell me where you go
I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned
I rose from dreamless hours and sought the morn
I said—Then, dearest, since 'tis so
I saw a city filled with lust and shame
I saw a King, who spent his life to weave
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
I saw two sowers in Life's field at morn
I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he
I stood by the unvintageable sea
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless
I that in heill was and gladness
I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
I, too, saw God through mud
I took my heart in my hand
I travell'd among unknown men
I wandered through Scoglietto's far retreat
I walked with Maisie long years back
I who am dead a thousand years
I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
I, with whose colours Myra dress'd her head
If all the world and love were young
If I had thought thou couldst have died
If I should die, think only this of me
'If I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
If night should come and find me at my toil
If the quick spirits in your eye
If the red slayer think he slays
If thou must love me, let it be for naught
If to be absent were to be
Immortal story that no mother's heart
In a drear-nighted December
In a harbour grene aslepe whereas I lay
In Clementina's artless mien
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
In going to my naked bed as one that would have slept
In his lodge beside a river
In the highlands, in the country places
In the hour of my distress
In the merry month of May
In those days said Hiawatha
In those days the Evil Spirits
In those good days when we were young and wise
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
Into the silver night
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller
It fell in the ancient periods
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free
It is an ancient Mariner
It is full summer now, the heart of June
It is not death, that sometime in a sigh
It is not to be thought of that the flood
It is The Miller’s Daughter
It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
It was a dismal and a fearful night
It was a' for our rightfu' King
It was a lover and his lass
It was many and many a year ago
It was no sooner than this morn
It was not in the Winter
It was not like your great and gracious ways!
It was the Winter wilde
Italia! thou art fallen, though with sheen
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