- A place uplifted towards the midnight sky The Star Bath
- After the fret and failure of this day, Night
- All the things magicians do Hymn (For Boy’s Voices)
- As of old Phoenician men, to the Tin Isles sailing Prologue
- Come let us curse our Master ere we die, De Profundis
- Faeries must be in the woods Song
- For all the lore of Lodge and Myers Tu Ne Quæsieris
- I am Nature, the Mighty Mother, Satan Speaks
- I am the Lord your God: even he that made Satan Speaks
- I cried out for the pain of man, In Prison
- I heard the swallow sing in the eaves and rose How He Saw Angus the God
- I know a little Druid wood Night
- I stand on the windy uplands among the hills of Down The Roads
- I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep— To Sleep
- I woke and rose and slipt away The Ass
- If men should ask, Despoina, why I tell Apology
- It is well that there are palaces of peace Oxford
- Last night I dreamed that I was come again Spooks
- Long leagues on either hand the trenches spread French Nocturne
- Love, there is a castle built in a country desolate, World’s Desire
- Lullaby! Lullaby! Lullaby
- Noon! and in the garden bower Noon
- Now the grey mist comes creeping up Irish Nocturne
- O Dwellers at the back of the North Wind, Song of the Pilgrims
- O leave the labouring roadways of the town, The Ocean Strand
- Open the gates for me, Death in Battle
- Roland is dead, Cuchulain’s crest is low, Victory
- See! the pale autumn dawn The Autumn Morning
- So piteously the lonely soul of man Dungeon Grates
- Suddenly there came to me L’Apprenti Sorcier
- Thank God that there are solid folk In Praise of Solid People
- The big, red house is bare and lone Ballade Mystique
- The stars come out; the fragrant shadows fall Sonnet
- There is a house that most of all on earth I hate. Alexandrines
- Three golden months while summer on us stole Milton Read Again
- Through the starry hollow Hesperus
- Trapped amid the woods with guile The Witch
- We need no barbarous words nor solemn spell “Our Daily Bread”
- When the flowery hands of spring The Satyr
- Who shall be our prophet then, The Philosopher
- Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth, Ode for New Year’s Day
All poets.