| | Poem Title | First Lines | Period | # Lines | # Reads |
| 1: | A Basket Of Flowers - From Dawn To Dusk | On skies still and starlit White lustres take hold, | | 96 | 1093 |
| 2: | A Dedication To The Author Of “Holmby House” | They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less | | 96 | 866 |
| 3: | A Fragment | They say that poison-sprinkled flowers | | 16 | 941 |
| 4: | A Hunting Song | Here’s a health to every sportsman, be he stableman or lord, | | 16 | 860 |
| 5: | A Legend Of Madrid | Crush’d and throng’d are all the places | | 144 | 1013 |
| 6: | A Song Of Autumn | Where shall we go for our garlands glad | | 16 | 930 |
| 7: | After The Quarrel | He never gave me a chance to speak, | | 8 | 909 |
| 8: | An Exile’s Farewell | The ocean heaves around us still | | 56 | 855 |
| 9: | Ars Longa - A Song Of Pilgrimage | Our hopes are wild imaginings, | | 72 | 817 |
| 10: | Ashtaroth: A Dramatic Lyric | Well, boy, what is it? | | 3153 | 817 |
| 11: | Bellona | Thou art moulded in marble impassive, | | 72 | 958 |
| 12: | Borrow’d Plumes | Of borrow’d plumes I take the sin, | | 24 | 1043 |
| 13: | By Flood And Field - A Legend Of The Cottiswold | I remember the lowering wintry morn, | | 76 | 745 |
| 14: | By Wood And Wold - A Preamble | Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows, | | 24 | 810 |
| 15: | Cito Pede Preterit Aetas - A Philosophical Dissertation | A mellower light doth Sol afford, | | 120 | 826 |
| 16: | Confiteor | The shore-boat lies in the morning light, | | 98 | 824 |
| 17: | Credat Judaeus Apella | Dear Bell, I enclose what you ask in a letter, | | 68 | 786 |
| 18: | Cui Bono | Oh! wind that whistles o’er thorns and thistles, | | 48 | 1036 |
| 19: | De Te | A burning glass of burnished brass, | | 90 | 848 |
| 20: | Delilah | The sun has gone down, spreading wide on | | 64 | 832 |
| 21: | Discontent | I said to young Allan M’Ilveray, | | 41 | 811 |
| 22: | Doubtful Dreams | Aye, snows are rife in December, | | 152 | 812 |
| 23: | Early Adieux | Adieu to kindred hearts and home, | | 64 | 792 |
| 24: | Ex Fumo Dare Lucem - ’Twixt The Cup And The Lip | Calm and clear! the bright day is declining, | | 229 | 818 |
| 25: | Exeunt | Where the grave-deeps rot, where the grave-dews rust, | | 31 | 888 |
| 26: | Fauconshawe - A Ballad | To fetch clear water out of the spring | | 186 | 949 |
| 27: | Finis Exoptatus - A Metaphysical Song | Boot and saddle, see, the slanting | | 180 | 813 |
| 28: | Fragmentary Scenes From The Road To Avernus - An Unpublished Dramatic Lyric | I said to young Allan M’Ilveray, | | 265 | 832 |
| 29: | From Lightning And Tempest | The spring-wind pass’d through the forest, and whispered low in the leaves, | | 18 | 787 |
| 30: | From The Wreck | Turn out, boys!”, “What’s up with our super to-night? | | 128 | 829 |
| 31: | Gone | In Collins-street standeth a statue tall, | | 64 | 840 |
| 32: | Hippodromania; or, Whiffs From The Pipe | Rest, and be thankful! On the verge | | 621 | 809 |
| 33: | How We Beat The Favourite - A Lay Of The Loamshire Hunt Cup | Aye, squire,” said Stevens, “they back him at evens; | | 100 | 770 |
| 34: | In The Garden | Come to the bank where the boat is moor’d to the willow-tree low; | | 53 | 878 |
| 35: | In Utrumque Paratus - A Logical Discussion | There’s a formula which the west country clowns | | 116 | 759 |
| 36: | Laudamus | The Lord shall slay or the Lord shall save! | | 45 | 847 |
| 37: | Lex Talionis - A Moral Discourse | To beasts of the field, and fowls of the air, | | 84 | 831 |
| 38: | No Name | Tis a nameless stone that stands at your head, | | 49 | 841 |
| 39: | Pastor Cum | When he, that shepherd false, ’neath Phrygian sails, | | 36 | 990 |
| 40: | Podas Okus | Am I waking? Was I sleeping? | | 168 | 780 |
| 41: | Potters’ Clay - An Allegorical Interlude | Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rill | | 16 | 839 |
| 42: | Quare Fatigasti | Two years ago I was thinking | | 64 | 840 |
| 43: | Rippling Water | The maiden sat by the river side | | 84 | 1008 |
| 44: | Sea Spray And Smoke Drift | Am I waking? Was I sleeping? | | 169 | 873 |
| 45: | Sunlight On The Sea | Make merry, comrades, eat and drink | | 96 | 866 |
| 46: | Ten Paces Off | I’ve won the two tosses from Prescot; | | 36 | 819 |
| 47: | The Feud: A Border Ballad | They sat by their wine in the tavern that night, | | 328 | 787 |
| 48: | The Fields Of Coleraine | On the fields of Col’raine there’ll be labour in vain | | 44 | 773 |
| 49: | The Last Leap | All is over! fleet career, Dash of greyhound slipping thongs, | | 48 | 836 |
| 50: | The Old Leaven - A Dialogue | So, Maurice, you sail to-morrow, you say? | | 193 | 834 |
| 51: | The Race | On the hill they are crowding together, | | 169 | 850 |
| 52: | The Rhyme Of Joyous Garde | Through the lattice rushes the south wind, dense | | 280 | 837 |
| 53: | The Roll Of The Kettledrum; or, The Lay Of The Last Charger | One line of swart profiles and bearded lips dressing, | | 200 | 839 |
| 54: | The Romance Of Britomarte | I’ll tell you a story; but pass the “jack”, | | 301 | 831 |
| 55: | The Sick Stockrider | Hold hard, Ned! Lift me down once more, and lay me in the shade. | | 80 | 789 |
| 56: | The Song Of The Surf | White steeds of ocean, that leap with a hollow and wearisome roar | | 32 | 935 |
| 57: | The Swimmer | With short, sharp, violent lights made vivid, | | 104 | 779 |
| 58: | The Three Friends | The sword slew one in deadly strife; | | 108 | 821 |
| 59: | Thick-headed Thoughts | I’ve something of the bull-dog in my breed, | | 60 | 816 |
| 60: | Thora’s Song - (“Ashtaroth”) | We severed in autumn early, | | 40 | 766 |
| 61: | To A Proud Beauty - A Valentine | Though I have loved you well, I ween, | | 16 | 816 |
| 62: | To My Sister | Across the trackless seas I go, | 1853 | 104 | 811 |
| 63: | Two Exhortations | Surely in the great beginning God made all things good, and still | | 78 | 814 |
| 64: | Unshriven | Oh! the sun rose on the lea, and the bird sang merrilie, | | 36 | 1027 |
| 65: | Valedictory Poem | Lay me low, my work is done; | | 40 | 1328 |
| 66: | Visions In The Smoke | Rest, and be thankful! On the verge | | 165 | 811 |
| 67: | Whisperings In Wattle-Boughs | Oh, gaily sings the bird! and the wattle-boughs are stirr’d | | 28 | 809 |
| 68: | Wolf And Hound | You’ll take my tale with a little salt, | | 96 | 789 |
| 69: | Wormwood And Nightshade | The troubles of life are many, | | 136 | 765 |
| 70: | Ye Wearie Wayfarer, Hys Ballad - (In Eight Fyttes) | Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows, | | 718 | 1014 |
| 71: | Zu der edlen Yagd - [A Treatise On Trees—Vine-tree v. Saddle-Tree] | Now, welcome, welcome, masters mine, | | 48 | 855 |
