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November (search for this): chapter 7
hose charioteer, II. 330. Behind us at our evening meal, II. 271. Believe me, Lucy Laroom, it gives me real sorrow, IV. 405. Beneath the low-hung night cloud, i. 352. Beneath the moonlight and the snow, II. 164. Beneath thy skies, November, III. 192. Beside a stricken field I stood, III. 223. Beside that milestone where the level sun, II. 168. Between the gates of birth and death, IV. 312. Bind up thy tresses, thou beautiful one, IV. 356. Bland as the morning breated man! Down to the root, IV. 41. Summer's last sun nigh unto setting shines, IV. 314 Sunlight upon Judaea's hills, II. 195. Sweetest of all childlike dreams, II. 59. Take our hands, James Russell Lowell, IV. 152. Talk not of sad November, when a day, II. 93. Tauler, the preacher, walked, one autumn day, i. 141. Thank God for rest, where none molest, III. 259. Thank God for the token! one lip is still free, III. 47. Thanks for thy gift, IV. 54. The age is dull and
October (search for this): chapter 7
142. I said I stood upon thy grave, III. 171. I shall not soon forget that sight, II. 98. I sing the Pilgrim of a softer clime, i. 322. Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, II. 52. I spread a scanty board too late, II. 178. Is this the land our fathers loved, III. 35. Is this thy voice whose treble notes of fear, III. 104. It chanced that while the pious troops of France, III. 343. It is done, III. 254. Its windows flashing to the sky, i. 217. It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain, III. 308. I wait and watch; before my eyes, II. 132. I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made, II. 81. I would I were a painter, for the sake, II. 57. I would not sin, in this half-playful strain, IV. 227. I would the gift I offer here, III. 289. I write my name as one, II. 179. John Brown of Ossawatomie spake on his dying day, IV. 106. Just God! and these are they, III. 38. Know'st thou, O slave-cursed land, III. 228. Last nigh
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